


Oasis for Ghosts

by TheCatToulouse



Series: The Marodrian [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Female Apprentice, M/M, Mild Smut, Nonbinary Asra (The Arcana), Other, Romance, Slight Canon Divergence, asra-centric, eventual polyamory, past apprentice/lucio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-06-26 12:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCatToulouse/pseuds/TheCatToulouse
Summary: She had come back – she had forgotten who she was, but she had come back and she was as whole as she had been the day he left. And that was really all he could have ever hoped for. She was different – less bold, more observant. She had developed a penchant for romance novels and she was less prone to spontaneous nudity. She hated the heat, and struggled to master fire as she once had. She preferred her hair cut short, rather than the long mane it had once been.But she was the same. Sometimes he caught her dancing in the kitchen when she thought he was out. She still talked to the stove salamander every time she cooked, and she still made him a travelers charm whenever he went away. She was still stupidly brave and tremendously resourceful. She still snuck Faust rainbow sherbet on hot days.She was still Kalida, and, in the end, she always came back to him.





	1. Street Magic

**Author's Note:**

> The First Meeting: Asra and Kalida

Ever since he was young, Asra had enjoyed the Masquerade. The streets were decorated in gold and red and people were in high spirits. When he was younger, begging and stealing on the street with Muriel, it meant that they were more likely to toss the two orphan boys a coin or two. Or, even more likely, they became so inebriated on free wine that they hardly noticed when their coin purse was slipped out of their pocket. Asra and Muriel would count their earnings and buy a celebratory loaf of bread, or, if their spoils were particularly good, a small cake that they’d split between them. They’d sit on the bridge and watch fireworks erupt over the castle; Asra would fantasize about what it must have been like inside the palace. He had heard there was a bubble room, and a room of illusions, and one where you became weightless upon entering. 

Asra was no longer a child beggar prone to thievery, but he still regarded the Masquerade with wonder. It was still quite a wonderous thing, even better now that he had a tent to protect himself from the blazing heat of the sun and his cards to keep him company. He’d been busy all day – the small, purple tent he had set up on the in the corner of Vesuvia’s main plaza had it’s share of visitors, but never before like that afternoon. A line had grown, looping around some of the stalls with more people joining by the minute. Apparently, everyone wanted to hear what the cards had to say. 

And although he was tired, he touched the bag of coins in his pocket and felt a sort of immense satisfaction. Perhaps he’d pick up smoked eel for Muriel at the end of the day – his oldest friend abhorred crowds, preferring to hide away in his cottage until the festivities came to an end. Asra didn’t mind the people, no matter how drunk they usually were, but the crowds were the slightest bit overwhelming and by his hundredth customer he was apologizing profusely to the rest of the people in line, shutting his tent up for the rest of the afternoon. 

They seemed put out, but it was the Masquerade, and he wasn’t the only magician in town. They had blown in from all over – he’d saw a magician with light blonde hair streaked with orange with what appeared to be crystals embedded into their chest. He’d saw one from Prakra, dark-skinned with the most magnificent green hair he had ever seen and eyes that literally glowed like flames He’d heard mumblings from outside his tent that there was even a magician from Marodria, a small city set on the cliffs outside of Prakra, known for the towering height of it’s natives and its penchant for turning out the most powerful magicians the lands had ever seen. In comparison, a Vesuvian fortune-teller like himself seemed wholly unexciting.

Tent flaps shut tight and safety wards put up – not that he didn’t trust the drunken merry makers of the Masquerade, it was, well, just that he didn’t trust the merry makers of the masquerade. Especially when his tent was not only one of his few possessions, but his place of work and, if the mood struck him (which it often did), where he slept. 

“Stretch!” Faust poked her head out of his scarf, slithering up his neck and making herself as long as possible. He laughed and caught her as she plopped over, nearly sliding down his shoulder.

“Indeed.” He snuck out the back of the tent, reaching over his head towards the sun and listening to his joints crack and pop. Surely sitting hunched over a table for so long wasn’t good for his back. “What should we do first? Explore the exotic food stands? Maybe catch a quick puppet show?” 

Faust tilted her head at him, tongue darting out to touch his nose from where he held her in front of his face. “Follow!” 

Asra raised an eyebrow. “Follow? Oh!” 

He spun out of the way, narrowly missing a herd of children as they barreled after what appeared to be a small, white rodent. One of the children, a little girl in a gingham dress who was clearly faster than the others, managed to nearly touch the small creature, and yet as her hand grazed it’s back, she yanked it back with a hiss. Smoke rose from the creature’s fur and it bounded between people’s feet, while the children shoved and pushed to chase after it. 

Often times, Asra would look back at this moment and wonder why exactly he did follow. He thinks it’s because of that little girl – he had saw the smoke and thought she burned her hand. He wanted to catch up to her to see if he could heal it. Or, maybe it was because he wanted to save the poor creature from the harassment it was bound to be on the receiving end of if the children caught it. 

In the end, he knows it wasn’t really any of those. They may have been contributing factors, sure, but Asra was a man of chance. That morning, before the crowd lined up and before he had heard stories about exotic magicians, he had read his own cards. The High Priestess upright symbolized intuition, and the power of the subconscious mind. It symbolized divine femininity. And it was fitting – the Masquerade was a time of great joy, and yet great uncertainty. People celebrated like it was their last day, they splurged, drank, and trampled each other to get into the palace. They hardly cared what the next hour would bring them, let alone the next day. 

Asra, for all his free-spiritedness, had never been particularly impulsive or reckless. Years living on the street had taught him to think carefully, to work smarter rather than harder. He was hardly ever caught for a lack of words, prided himself on being one step ahead of the others, and was as resourceful and charming as he needed to be at any given moment. Following a group of random children as they chased a smoking rodent was not rational. And yet, his life forever changed because he did. Whether that spoke to his fixation for control, or his need to let go and be a little irrational sometimes, he wasn’t sure. He liked to think it was the latter. 

And so, he chased the children as they chased the rat – was it a rat? – and he laughed while doing it. Faust slithered into the scarf he wore, using it as a hammock as it swung wildly against his chest. He dodged around a group of singers who were parading around the fountain, leaped over a barrel of mead that was being rolled down the cobbled street, almost lost the children as they turned down a particularly sharp corner, and, out of breath and red in the face, he almost ran straight into a crowd of at least forty people as they gathered around… nothing. 

The children pushed through the people violently, oblivious to the murmurs of discontent. Asra hopped, hoping to see what had everyone so curious as to forming a circle around nothing, patiently waiting and wasting daylight that could have been better spent buying salty wine off a vendor from Nevivon. 

He spotted a lamp post and hoisted himself up quickly before anyone else could claim it. He leaned off the side, hand anchoring him to the pole, and squinted. The kids had stopped abruptly, as though stopped by an invisible barrier that kept them from chasing the creature. Said creature, now that Asra could get a better look, was actually an albino weasel of some kind. Possibly a ferret, although Asra was no expert in weasels. He’d have to ask Muriel next time he visited. 

There was a moment where there was pure silence. At least, it was as quiet as it could be on a day of the Masquerade. The people waited with bated breath; eyes wide as they stared at the empty space in front of them. Even the children stopped their pushing and shoving to watch as the ferret stood up on its hind legs and promptly burst into smoke. 

And then, a jingle. The gentle brush of metal against metal, so soft that Asra almost didn’t believe he heard it all. He wouldn’t have believed it, had a leg not emerged from seemingly thin air, a golden chain draped from hip to knee. The leg was tan, smooth and bent in a deliberately sensuous way that had most of the bold men and women wolf whistling while their spouses thumped them on the back. The leg’s foot touched the ground gently and with smooth grace drew a figure eight, gentle jingle filling the air once more. 

Slow, sensual, and heady music filled the ears of the onlookers, seemingly attracting a few more as well. The area around the “stage” was getting decidedly more crowded. The music came from seemingly nowhere – there were no drums or string instruments visible, but the sound was as thought they were right in front of them. The leg stretched out once more and then was gone. 

From the same place appeared another leg, this one pale and covered in a thin layer of bright red hair. The foot was calloused, with crooked toes and yellowed toe nails. It twisted shyly, toes digging into the ground nervously. Asra grinned, and the crowd around him thundered with laughter. The foot drew that same figure eight into the ground, and then was gone once more, disappearing behind whatever magical curtain was there. 

Azra realized, rather belatedly, that the shop behind where the show was taking place was Vesuvia’s premier magic show. Magic, in this sense being it wasn’t magic at all, and well-known for selling pickled deer hooves and trying to pass them off as good-luck charms. Asra wasn’t sure if the show happening in front of it was being put on by someone inside the shop – perhaps they had suddenly become actual magicians – or if it was supposed to be mocking the establishment. Regardless, Asra had never seen such fine illusionary magic before. 

A mask appeared from thin air; the mask was painted poorly, with a clownish pink frown and big blue eyes with lemon pupils. It looked back and forth frantically, mouth moving up and down obnoxiously. A ragged coughing filled the area, and the music’s pace increased as to compete. The mask began to cough up large, silvery plumes of smoke. The entire clearing had filled with it in seconds, but it seemed to stop itself before entering the crowd, forming a sort of dome around the stage area.

Then, the smoke was gone just as suddenly as it had appeared. With a great sucking nose, the mask inhaled all of it back into its mouth. In the center of the circle stood a woman. She held the mask with a slender hand, covering her face. When she lowered the mask, Asra saw the darkness of her lashes and the gray of her eyes just before she turned, throwing the mask into the air. It floated there above her, mouth open and waiting. 

Asra expected it this time – she moved her foot gracefully against the stone and the music picked up, a haunting voice erupting from the mask and singing a song that was upbeat yet entirely foreign. 

She began to dance.

Her body swayed right on rhythm, turning around she flashed the crowd a smile before erupting into a dance which consisted of kicks and spins. She lifted her leg up, kicking so high that Asra was sure she would fall back. And yet she remained standing, still grinning and her long, dark hair whipping behind her with each step. Her shirt was tight fitting and low cut, a brilliant turquoise that illuminated her tanned skin. Her skirt was turquoise as well and long, with a slit that went up so high Asra could see the short linen material she wore underneath for the sake of modesty. And there, there was the chain, jingling from her waist to her knee with each movement. 

“Pretty!” Faust exclaimed. 

“Yes.” His eyes never left her. “Very pretty.” 

Her movements were fluid, never lingering in one place too long and her hips never still long enough to miss a beat. Her face was utterly carefree and relaxed, almost oblivious to the crowd as they cheered and tossed coins at her. 

The mask seemed to be slowing down, nearing the end of his song and slowly floating back down to the ground. Then, her leg flourished out once more and the mask shot back into the air, this time singing a well known Vesuvian festival tune. She reached over to the crowd, holding out a hand of invitation to a hooded woman who politely raised her hand in refusal. The dancer shrugged and almost immediately turned and locked eyes with the little girl from earlier. She held a hand out to the girl and the child leaped over to grab it, jumping around excitedly as the pair danced. 

Vesuvian dancing, he knew, was much more upbeat, consisting of a lot of raucous fiddle and dancing on tables. Significantly rowdier, but fun all the same. Soon, half the children had joined, and when the mask began floating to the ground again, and this time she did nothing to stop it. As the music slowed, and the singing stopped, the mask teetered precariously before plummeting to the ground completely. The crowd gasped, but the dancer caught it effortlessly, not even looking up from the little girl she had been whispering to. 

She stood, and took a single bow. The crowd erupted into cheers and whooping. Asra did neither – he felt rooted to the post on which he stood, and when she looked up and locked eyes with him, purposefully or not, he felt like he’d seen the sun for the first time. And then the moment was gone, and she had procured a scarf from her shirt and was using it to collect the coins of those who felt generous enough to tip. The ferret was back, running around and picking up the coins on the ground in its mouth to deposit in the scarf.

“This was the last show of the day, but we’ll have more tomorrow!” She exclaimed to the dispersing crowd. “Stop inside the shop before you go!”  
But hardly anyone did. The hooded women hesitated, stepping towards the shop before being pulled away by an older man. The dancer seemed to deflate slightly, sighing and turning to go into the shop, the ferret hot at her heels. 

Asra sprang into action, jumping lightly from the post and hurrying across the street and into the shop. With no hesitation, he pushed open the door, a bell above ringing and alerting the proprietor of his presence. Immediately, he was assaulted by the heady smell of smoke and herbs. The shop was, undoubtedly, supposed to specialize in all things magical. Crystal balls – something that Asra hadn’t heard of anyone using in years – sat collecting dust on a shelf. Behind the counter were more shelves, stocked full of crystal jaws and nefarious, black vials. Some jars seemed to be filled with items as innocent as daisy petals long dried out. While others seemed to hold those deer hooves that had made the shop so infamous, floating in a suspiciously chartreuse fluid. 

The dancer was no where to be seen, and instead a different woman sat behind the counter, paging through a book of what appeared to be about alchemy. She perked up immediately upon his entering, face splitting into a large smile, probably over the prospect of actually having a customer. Asra’s eyes widened as she stood, towering over him; she was, without a doubt, a good foot taller than him. Her eyes were the same gray as the dancer’s, but her skin was sallow and her hair was as brittle as straw and peach in color. 

“Welcome!” She chirped; her voice was higher than he expected it to be. “How can I help you, young one? Perhaps you’re interested in a lucky charm?” 

“No,” he said immediately. He wasn’t interested in going home with a pickled deer foot, thank you very much. That being said, he didn’t really have any reason to be in the shop, outside of the fact that he had followed that dancer. Which, when he thought about, was much creepier than he thought it would be originally. 

“Actually.” His eyes looked around the shop, stopping on a map hung on the wall with what appeared to be a dagger. “I was looking for a traveler’s charm. You wouldn’t have one here, would you?” 

“Traveler’s charm… Traveler’s charm…” She scratched her chin. “Oh! Yes, why yes, of course.” 

She abruptly turned to dig through shelves under the counter. She opened a series of drawers, one of which emitted a loud roar before she managed to slam it shut. She flashed him an apologetic look. Asra took the time to survey the shop once more. There was a tattered curtain which led to what he assumed to be a room used to read fortunes. Then, there were stairs that led up, and his eyes couldn’t help but follow their path upwards, wondering if – 

“Aha! Here, a traveler’s charm. The old one’s expired, just got around to making a new batch this morning. Would have been done sooner, if my idiotic niece would actually help instead of putting on those little shows.” She opened her palm, showing him a crumpled little cube that appeared to be made out of palm leaves. 

Asra eyed it skeptically. “That’s a traveler’s charm?” 

“Of course it is!” The cube unraveled the slightest bit as she spoke. 

He was beginning to understand why the shop had gained such an infamous reputation. Everything in it appeared outdated, or amusingly non-magical. He wasn’t surprised that half of the charms and baubles couldn’t fool non-magical people, let alone magicians. 

“Now that’ll be ten coins.” The cube unraveled further, palms poking out from every which way. 

“Scam!” Faust had slithered around his neck, head tilted as she peered down at the cube. 

The woman eyed the snake with distaste. “Scam! How dare…” 

“Oh, enough, Bathilda.” Asra turned to see the dancer from before descending a set of rickety stairs. “He has a familiar. Surely you can’t expect him to be fooled by that.” 

She was prettier up close, with high cheekbones and glittering eyes. She was looking right at him, full lips quirking up as she surveyed him. On the ground, the ferret weaved through her feet, a little bell tied around it’s neck that jingled with every move it made. She had changed into tight fitting black pants and high boots, clothing for walking rather than dancing. 

She regarded Faust with obvious interest, head tilting to the side, mimicking Faust’s movements. Asra’s heart clenched. 

The woman, Bathilda, scowled. “Why don’t you try and sell then? Instead of doing your little dances in front of the shop.” 

“I can’t.” She responded brightly. “I’m on break.” 

“Break.” Bathilda deadpanned. “Break, she says. Ha! Like she does any work to warrant a break… And that’s Master Bathilda to you, little girl.” 

“Mhm.” She walked toward the door, glancing behind her and gesturing him once to follow. Which he did. Of course. 

She walked into the street in front of the shop before bending down and picking up the ferret, placing the animal on her shoulder. It nuzzled her, red eyes closing in what appeared to be satisfaction. 

“C’mon.” She turned to him, walking backwards and expertly dodging people without even looking. “I can make you that charm you need.” 

Asra flushed, maneuvering through the crowd with less grace. “I don’t actually need the charm,” he admitted. 

“Are you sure?” She pouted her lip slightly, teasingly. “I can actually make you one. My aunt’s nothing more than a con-artist. I, on the other hand…” She nudged her head towards the ferret on her shoulder. 

He grinned. “I know, I saw your performance.” 

To his surprise, her face colored slightly. “I thought I saw you, hanging off that pole with your jaw on the ground.”

“It wasn’t on the ground.” He laughed. “Maybe it was – I’ve never seen magic like that before. It was… elegant.” 

She stopped so abruptly that he almost ran right into her. They stood so close that Faust from his shoulder leaned across the gap between their bodies to flick her tongue at the ferret. In turn, the ferret eyed the snake skeptically, sniffing at it. 

“Faust, don’t be rude.” He moved to take a step back, but the dancer grabbed his wrist before he could. The place where her hand touched his skin felt electrified, like he could feel her magic coursing through her and into him. 

“That’s okay. They like each other,” she murmured. He knew that she was referring to their familiars, and yet the words set his heart racing all the same. 

“This is Yxa.” She raised her free hand to scruff the ferret’s neck. “My name is Kalida.” 

“This is Faust.” He watched the way her eyelashes cast dark shadows along her face. “I’m Asra.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Asra.” Her smile turned suddenly fond, eyes crinkling as she held out a finger to Faust and scratched her under the chin. “And you too, Faust.” 

They had wound up at a tea stall; the wood of the ebony booth was perpetually fogged with steam, and the scent of herbs and flowers perfumed the air. The stall was away from the rest of the madness, an oasis where one could be content to lounge on the pillows spread sporadically in front of the booth to watch people as they passed. Asra was sure there were protections put on the area to keep the pillows available to paying customers only, as it was always decidedly less crowded than the rest of the masquerade and everyone seemed to have a cup of steaming tea in their hands. 

Asra had invited Kalida – he’d been interested to hear more about the magic she used in her performance, and he’d been lying if he said he didn’t want to get to know her better. Her mere presence was captivating, so much so that he found himself paying for both her cup and his without feeling the slightest bit guilty on wasting money on something so frivolous. 

“You’re from Vesuvia then?” She asked over the rim of her jade cup. 

He lounged back on the pillows; one leg bent at the knee with his arm casually draped over it. In his other hand he held his own cup, swirling the remnants of his lapsang souchong thoughtfully. 

“Do I look like a local?” He asked, lips quirking at the corners. 

She tilted her head and her hair slipped away from where it was placed on her shoulder. “I don’t know. I only know one man from Vesuvia and you look nothing like him.” She smiled. “Although, I’m told there’s no such thing as locals here. Everyone seems to be from somewhere else.” 

“I was born here.” He watched as Faust wrapped herself around the leg of the low table in between them. “And you?” 

She flopped back down onto the pillow, arching her back and stretching like a cat. Yxa scuttled from the table and onto her chest, nuzzling at her neck. 

“Where do you think I am from?” She asked. 

“Hm.” He sat on straighter, studying her profile. “I’ve put some thought into this already.” He admitted. 

She breathed a laugh. “Let’s hear your theories, fortune teller.” 

“Perhaps Prakra, although that seems like an obvious choice.” 

“Why obvious?” 

“Because I hear that Prakran women are some of the most beautiful in the world.” He felt his chest warm with satisfaction at her embarrassed laugh and the way her chest pinked at his words. 

“I considered maybe one of the Southern tribes because of your aunt.” He admitted. “She seems to fit the stereotypes.”

“Angry with no magic?” She raised an amused eyebrow. “True, but neither of us hail from any Southern tribe.” 

“Then Hespiria?” 

“Oh.” She laughed. “I’d love to hear your reasoning for that one.” 

“Both the place and you seem infuriatingly mysterious.”

She bit her lip and finally rolled to her side to look at him. She propped her head up with her hand. “Mysterious, huh? You know, you have just met me.”

“And yet you’ve yet to tell me anything about your magic or where you’re from.” He drank the remnants of his cup. “Not that I’m complaining – your company alone is enough to satisfy me.” 

He saw the beginnings of a smirk form on her lips, and her eyes danced with amusement. “Marodria.” 

Asra sat up and nearly dropped his cup in the process. “Really?” 

She sat up slowly, pulling her knees up to chest and wrapping her arms around them. She rested her head on the tops of her knees, and he watched Yxa’s head pop out of the gap between her stomach and her thighs. 

“Have I met your expectations?” She smiled, but it didn’t quite make her eyes sparkle in the way that they had before. Rather, she looked tired, as though this was an exchange that she had often, and often it ended poorly. 

“You’re exceedingly talented,” he answered honestly. He could feel his face burning in the sun’s dimming light. “Just like those from Marodria are said to be. Shorter than I would’ve expected, though.” 

She snorted, but his answer didn’t seem to offend. “Abnormally so, some would say.” 

She was but a few inches shorter than Asra, coming up to about his chin. But Marodria was notorious for turning out giants; the one Marodrian Asra had met before stood at 7’3” and was so strong they had singlehandedly pushed a ship stuck on a sandbar back into the sea. 

“It is true then.” Asra said after a moment of silence. “The chain. I should’ve known earlier when I saw you dancing.” 

She seemed to brighten considerably at its very mention, face splitting into a genuine grin. She sat up just enough to untuck her shirt, seemingly unaware of the way Asra’s eyes widened and his face flushed. Some of the people around them flashed them curious looks as Kalida pushed up her shirt to expose her midsection. Around her waist, resting on the flare of her hips was a gold chain. It was the same one from earlier, the one that wrapped loosely around her hips, one side extending down her thigh to circle just above the bend of her knee. 

“Do you mind?” Asra leaned forward, extending a hand halfway across the table between them. 

“Go ahead.” She scooted closer to give him better access. 

He hesitated just a second before reaching out to brush the metal with the tips of his fingers, almost seizing up at the pulse of magic that radiated up his arm and through his body once he made contact. The magic tingled and set his blood on fire. Bright turquoise and steel grey exploded before his eyes, dotting his vision to the point where he felt lightheaded. He smelled what could only be described as a combination of citrus and chamomile. 

He was hardly aware that she had moved to his side of the table, and that she had a hand pressed to his chest and another to his shoulder. His back was against the pillows and he was panting as he stared up at her. Her hands pressed against him felt like the only stability in his world, and without realizing he reached up with one of his own and settled it over the hand on his heart. 

“I’m sorry.” Her fingers curled against his chest the slightest bit. Heat filled his chest and his muscles almost immediately relaxed as he tried to get his breathing under control. 

“T-that was your magic?” He was having a hard time focusing on anything but the way her face hovered just above his, or the way her nose scrunched up as she regarded him with slight embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry.” She repeated. “Sometimes it’s too much for other magicians – I should’ve been more careful.” 

“It wasn’t too much.” He said. “It was amazing.” 

Her lips parted, and just as suddenly as she had rushed over to him had she pulled herself away. Her face was flushed, and she pushed a long strand of hair behind her ear. Her shirt was still untucked, and one of her hands settled over the chain on her waist self-consciously. 

“I just received the chain about a year ago.” She said as she settled down into the pillows next to him. “And I’m still a little over-excited about it sometimes.” 

Asra sat up, shoulder brushing hers as he did so. “When I was younger, I’d ask my mother to make me flower chains so that I could wrap them around my waist and legs, pretending that I was a famous magician from Marodria. Back then, I’d ask neighbor kids to touch the flowers, and they’d laugh at me. They used to say the only magic they could feel was the grit of the pollen.” 

He remembered how he would sit at his mother’s feat and listen to her tell the tales of Marodria, the magical city on the cliffs. Tales of magicians and the village elder weaving together a magical connection that would forever connect them to the physical plane and the aether. It was a physical reminder that a magician’s magic was not only surface deep, that it was endless and connected to all planes, tangible and spiritual. He had begged his mother to make him one, and she had smiled and strung together a chain of flowers for him. 

“Cute.” She poked him in the cheek good-naturedly. 

“What I’m saying is, is that if I was anywhere near as talented as you, I wouldn’t be embarrassed about letting people know.” 

She hesitated a moment. “What you saw earlier – I do a lot of showy magic. But my people don’t get chains for showy magic alone. My mother spent months before my birthday weaving together metals from the sands of the cliffs. Everyday her hands bled and her eyes watered from the bits of sand that got stuck. The chain makes it impossible for anyone to steal magic away from us, and serves as a physical embodiment of the power we have. When we die, the chain will remain. There was a time where I thought I wouldn’t receive one at all….” 

She leaned in closer to him to whisper conspiratorially. “I’m not embarrassed by my own magic. But I was worried we would get kicked out if you kept gasping and moaning as you were.”

Asra stiffened. His stomach sunk as he looked at her with wide eyes, face turning red all the way to his ears. 

She abruptly burst into laughter, practically collapsing onto the pillows behind her as she did. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re joking, then?”

“Partly.” She giggled. “Your chest was heaving up and down, and while there was no moaning, you did look like you were at the climax of ecstasy.” 

Asra flopped down and buried his face in a pillow, groaning loudly. 

“Ecstasy!” Faust chirped as she slithered up his back. 

“You should’ve seen the looks of the other patrons.” Kalida wiped at her eye, grinning widely. “I swear, they kept looking to make sure that your pants were still – !”

He had grabbed one of the pillows and swung it towards her. He narrowly missed as she fell back to dodge his attack, chest rising up and down with laughter once more.

He raised his head just enough to peek up from the pillow. “I didn’t – I mean, I wasn’t actually in t-the climax of ecstasy.” 

“I know.” She nodded in mock solemnity. “Still, I should be careful about letting people touch my chain in public…” 

He rolled his eyes, but he still couldn’t help the way his lips twitched up to form a smile. The sun was just beginning to set, and the light cast a rosy hue over her tan skin. Her grey eyes reflected the pink and orange of the sunset and as they settled upon him, he felt momentarily stunned. 

“I – the masquerade is starting.” He said, although it was quite obvious by the scores of people heading towards the palace. “Do you want to go with me? We can try and get into the palace, although, most years I’ve had fun sitting on the bridge just in front of it.” 

Her smile fell just the slightest bit. “I would like that.”

“Ah.” He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. His spirits fell as he caught sight of the look on her face. “But…”

“But I’ve already told someone else that I’d attend with them.” She looked sheepishly at her lap where Yxa had mysteriously appeared. “And I believe I’m already late to meet them. Late by several hours, actually, but it was hard to leave when the company was so good.” 

“The other man you know from Vesuvia…?” He guessed. 

“That very one.” She nodded as she pushed herself up from the pillows. She scooped the ferret up and draped her around her shoulders before offering him a hand. 

He graciously took it, allowing her to help pull him to his feet. 

“Then maybe tomorrow?” 

Her eyes softened. “Tomorrow I’ll be home in Marodria.” 

He let go of her hand. “Oh. I was under the impression that you were staying.” 

“Bathilda wishes I would – she wants me to apprentice under her. Although, what she would teach me I don’t know. Perhaps one day I will stay, but I have obligations at home and places I’d like to see before that day comes.” 

He nodded. “Wanderlust is something I understand.” 

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Then I hope that our paths will cross again on our travels.” 

She reached into her pocket and produced a blue, tear-shaped pendant. She reached down for his hand and placed it in his palm, making sure to curl his fingers over it before she let go. 

“A traveler’s charm,” she said. “A real one.” 

“I – thank you.” He said, opening his hand to stare at the glass bead. 

She took a deep breath in. “I hope that we can see each other again. Maybe at the next Masquerade…? You can show me that spot on the bridge you were telling me about.” 

He smiled a gentle smile. “I’d like that.” 

She hesitated a moment before pushing herself up on her tip-toes and kissing his cheek. 

“Goodbye, Asra.” 

She turned on her heel, darting into the crowd and out of his life as soon as she had stormed into it. Asra stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, staring after her with his mouth hanging open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! This is mostly going to consist of stories taken from Kalida's life. Meaning that it may not always be chronological, but I'll do my best from keeping you from being too confused, don't worry.


	2. Opportunities Taken and Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You.” He pointed a finger at her. “You are nearly five hours late. Do you know the things I had planned for you?” 
> 
> “I can only guess.” 
> 
> “You missed out on what was sure to be the best tour of my menagerie I’d given anyone.” 
> 
> She laughed and began tugging off her shirt. “What else?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The First Meeting: Nadia and Kalida
> 
> A warning before you proceed with the chapter:  
> There will be references to a past sexual encounter between Lucio and Kalida, who at the time was underage. Nothing explicit, though.

Kalida had always been adeptly capable when it came to mischief, and her magical affinities made that obvious to anyone who cared to look long enough. Her ability to create portals came as easy as breathing, and served as an annoyance for her family as she grew up. She was particularly fond of sneaking up on any one of her three siblings at any given time, getting a good laugh out of making them startle. As she grew older and her power developed, she discovered that portals were the easiest way to sneak about, much to her mother’s ire. For someone as interested in breezing through empires and cities, it was the easiest means for transportation. 

Portals were also particularly handy when it came to sneaking into the palace. 

Kalida jumped out of the aether and landed in a resplendent garden filled with towering trees and a ornate stone fountain in the midst of the greenery. Night was falling upon Vesuvia, and the last few rays of the setting sun lit up the garden and cast a warm golden glow upon the flowers and the cold marble of the palace. The light had also illuminated the face of a beautiful young woman as she stared at Kalida from her perch on the edge of the fountain in shock. 

Kalida put up her hands in surrender and swiftly motioned for the portal to shut behind her. She smiled brightly at the woman. “Oh dear, this doesn’t seem to be the tavern I was hoping for.” 

“You’re the magician. The one from earlier.” The woman had stood up, and Kalida inadvertently took a step back. Magical or not, she wouldn’t lie and say that the person in front of her didn’t have the air of regal intimidation. She was also much taller than her, although most were. 

“From earlier…?” Kalida grabbed at the air, easily enough grabbing a string that opened the aether. All she would have to do was pull, and the air in front of her would open up to wherever she needed to go. 

“From in front of the magic shop.” The woman smiled and a flush crept over her tan skin. “I – you invited me to dance with you.” 

Kalida let go of the string in relief. “Right – I do remember you now. You were wearing a hood, were you not?” 

“I was.” Her smile fell. “And I’d like to hope that you’re not breaking into the Masquerade for nefarious purposes. Although, even you have to admit that’s what it seems like your doing.” 

Kalida shifted awkwardly, the grass crumpling under her boots. This was just her luck, to create a portal into the garden of all places and run directly into… Well, she didn’t know exactly who she had run into, but whomever the woman in front of her was Kalida was sure that she could summon the palace guards within seconds. 

“Heh, I understand this may be hard to believe, but I was actually invited.” Kalida wiggled her fingers until sparks shot from the tips. “To entertain.” 

The woman’s shoulders relaxed and she took her seat on the edge of the fountain once more. 

“Forgive me… It has been a trying day.” She nodded her head towards Kalida. “I’m Nadia Satrinava.”

Almost automatically, Kalida fell into a bow. The tips of her fingers touched her brow and her other hand was tucked behind her back. Even Yxa who had been perched disinterestedly on her shoulder seemed to lower her head. It was near muscle memory; something most people within radius of the Prakran empire were taught to do at birth if they ever so much as heard the name Satrinava uttered. 

“My lady,” Kalida murmured. 

Of course, she thought vehemently, of course I would get caught by Prakran royalty. 

Truly, she’d vow never to be late again if this was what was in store for her. 

“Please, rise.” Nadia sounded embarrassed. “That’s unnecessary – I’m the youngest princess, not the queen.”

“I hardly think that makes you any less important.” Kalida stood up straight. 

“You know me, then. Are you from Prakra, Magician?” Nadia nodded towards the spot on the edge next to her, and Kalida hesitated a second before walking over and gently sitting down. 

Kalida was quiet a moment; she had never met this particular Satrinava sister, although she’d met had the pleasure of meeting Natiqa when she’d come to Marodria as an ambassador on behalf of the crown. However, it seemed unwise to disclose her true identity to a woman she hardly knew – regardless of whether she was royalty or not – given her task at hand.

In Marodria, the Elder served as the advisor to the Prakran crown when it came to magic. Marodria, although it’s own entity, often would aid other nations with magical issues, and in return they’d ask for nothing more than to be left alone. Sure, they traded and maintained good relationships with other cities and empires, but it was still a city of historic magical value. All too often there were those who sought to conquer the city and claim its power for their own. While the last war was a century ago, the city’s peace largely resided on the ability of the Elder to provide, not only to the people of Marodria, but to the leaders of nearby nations. Kalida’s mother, Elder Zecane, second of her name, had been advising the Satrinava crown for three decades. Before that Elder Zecane, first of her name, also known as Kalida’s grandmother, had been aiding the crown for nearly six decades. Disclosing that she was Kalida Zecane, youngest daughter to the Elder seemed unwise given the fact that she was sneaking into the palace (invited or not) without her family’s knowledge. Gossip up North traveled fast, and she was sure that the entirety of the Satrinava family, the Zecane family, and the people of both Prakra and Marodria would know that she was sneaking about by noon the following day. 

“Yes,” Kalida lied. Well, it wasn’t so much a lie – Marodria was close to Prakra, just outside the empire’s limits in a magical no man’s land right that sat on the cliffs. “I’m Kal.” 

“I enjoyed your show earlier, Kal.” Nadia said. She soothed out the skirt of her royal purple gown. Kalida took a moment to admire the way the purple fabric seemed to move like water. Golden beads formed elaborate patterns that mimicked the tendrils of a rising sun, and the bodice of the dress was made entirely of golden pearls. She doubted it was comfortable, but Nadia did look stunning. 

“Thank you.” Kalida paused before switching to Prakran, the princess’s native tongue. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you earlier, by asking you to dance I didn’t know –”

Nadia held up a hand. “Please, don’t finish that sentence.”

Kalida blanched.

“I would have liked to dance.” She sighed. “But my presence in Vesuvia is supposed to remain a secret of sorts – for now, at least. One of my guards advised me that it would be unwise to partake in such… displays.” 

“How dull.” Kalida crossed her legs and propped her head up on her hand. Yxa scurried off of her shoulder and down the length of her body to peer into the blue water of the fountain behind them. 

“It is very dull.” She agreed. “I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t go informing people of my identity and presence. Since it’s supposed to be a secret.”

Kalida placed a hand over her heart. “You have my word… Though, I can’t help but wonder exactly why a Prakran princess would attend a masquerade in Vesuvia, of all places.” Nadia smiled, and Kalida quite liked the way it changed her face from serious and regal to almost mischievous and… well, sensual. For lack of a better word. 

“Prakra and Vesuvia are interested in mending a neglected relationship. The Count has invited me to be his guest for the evening.” 

Kalida jerked her head up to look stare at the woman next to her. “Really?”

“Really.” Nadia hesitated. She looked up at the sky, which was becoming darker by the minute. “I barely managed to escape out here to get some air before I’m to accompany him for the rest of the night.”

The wheel’s in Kalida’s head turned a mile a minute as she processed the new information. Her stomach – which had always been sensitive to her emotions – turned in unease, and her heart beat against her chest quickly. She was not angry, per se. She wasn’t sure she really had to the right to be angry, given the circumstances. 

Kalida had met the Count Lucio just once before. It had been the year prior, mere days after Kalida had received her chain. The last party of the Solstice was in full swing, and it was known to draw in tourists from all over the world. It put the Masquerade to shame – the magic was so thick in the air you could smell it, the illusions grand, the wine sweet, and the dancing so rowdy that the celebration usually raged throughout the night. It was the only time that the Elder allowed for such grand displays of power in the city, the only time her mother smiled upon Kalida’s dancing and her tricks. 

She had greeted Lucio at the gates; it was customary for the Elder and their family to greet leaders from other lands. Hours earlier, her brother, Teyano, had warned her about the count. He’d told her the tales of his conquests, of how he killed the mayor of a city for refusing to house and feed his army, how he had a golden claw for a hand. 

But she hadn’t met the man she’d been expecting – the one who stood before at the gates looked annoyed and arrogant. He wore furs in the heat and the white of his clothes remained immaculate even during the travel through the jungle. Riches and leadership had softened him, she had thought – how could this man, this Lucio, be the murderer her brother had described?

She remembered how, later that night, Tomasz, her youngest brother and her twin, scolded her for creating fireworks for a group of children. 

“You have a chain now.” He spat. “And yet you act like a child.” 

He’d been drunk, bitter about not have been chosen that year for a chain of his own. But his words still stung. After her hard work, after groveling, after training, and hours upon hours of practice to improve and prove herself, after receiving a chain she was still being treated by a child. She’d run off, intent on escaping to the other side of the city for the night, far away from her brother. And in her rush, she’d nearly ran straight into the Count who, upon recognizing her from earlier in the day, promptly recruited her to help him find the sanctuary in which he’d be staying for the night. 

She had kissed him first, he’d been more than a willing participant, but she had made the first move. And she’d made it to prove herself, to prove that she wasn’t a child. She’d received a chain, she was a Magician by the standards of Marodria, and she was a woman. If shedding her virginity was what it took to prove that, even if it meant proving it to herself, she would. 

And she did. 

Looking back at it, she often wondered if she would have been so bold had her brother not humiliated her moments earlier. She wasn’t entirely sure – despite her chain and her power, she’d been sixteen at the time, and prone to rash decisions as sixteen year olds often were. Worst yet, were her feelings of regret. She’d never put much thought into the notion that virginity was supposed to mean something – she wasn’t an acolyte in her mother’s temple, but nor was she prowling the streets looking for bed partner’s each night. 

So why did she feel so terrible afterwards? Why, when her brother apologized (a rarity in itself) the following morning, did she burst into tears? Why could she not look Lucio in the eye when her family saw him off? For the first time in her life, Kalida was ashamed.

And she fucking hated it. 

A year later, when she’d received a letter from Lucio inviting her to be his guest of honor for the Masquerade, she’d been mildly surprised that he’d remembered her at all. She was… flattered, and yet her stomach twisted and heart clenched. She’d had partners after him; she’d spent the night at a brothel in the city’s center even. So, what was it about the Count that seemed to make her feel so small and childish? Was it him at all? 

Maybe she was still a child – it was childish to think that sex of all things made her a woman, both the first time she met Lucio, and now. She’d come to prove that she had grown since that first time, but did coming in itself mean that she hadn't?

There she was, sitting next to the woman who was a princess, and also the guest of the Count. She sat there, after having forgone the opportunity to spend what was sure to be a magical evening with the intriguing white-haired magician from earlier. She sat there, with the sudden realization that perhaps she wasn’t there to be a guest, but a consort. That’s what she wanted – the opportunity to prove herself (whatever that meant) with no strings attached. So why did her eyes burn with tears, why did her hands feel clammy, and why did her stomach roll with unease?

“And where is he now?” She forced herself to stay present, to look Nadia in the eyes when she spoke to her. 

“Bathing.” Nadia released a noise as close to a snort as a royal could possibly make. “His party is to start in approximately forty minutes.”

Kalida nodded and stood, scooping up Yxa and placing her on her shoulder. “Then I should get going. I’ll need to change and prepare for later.” 

“You’ll be performing again?” Nadia’s face brightened. 

“Yes,” Kalida lied. Her guilt doubled, and she broke eye contact with the woman. Gods, maybe she was just a child. 

“I look forward to it.” 

“I hope we meet again, princess.” Kalida gave pause. “Maybe under different circumstances next time.” 

She reached out and plucked at the strings of the Aether. A portal opened up, the swirling lines visible only to her. She looked up and smiled at Nadia; she waved once before she stepped into the portal and the scene in front of her dissolved into thin air. 

Kalida almost slipped upon exiting – she hadn’t been expecting how slippery the tile would be under her boot. Steam obscured her vision, and it was with a jolt that she realized that she’d inadvertently appeared in a bathroom. The room was huge, and opened up to a terrace that overlooked what Kalida assumed to be another garden. In the center of the room, cut deep into the rosey stone was a tub filled to the brim with steaming water. 

In the center of the tub, back to her, was Count Lucio. His arms were folded and his chin was propped up on them as he stared out towards the terrace. The slump of his shoulders and the way he sighed heavily gave the impression that he’d been sulking for the better part of the evening. Probably for good reason – if Kalida had to take a guess, she was around four hours late. 

She slipped off her boots quietly, leaving them by the door and letting Yxa get into one before approaching the tub with measured steps. When she reached the edge, she gestured weakly and the water closest to her rose up to splash the man across the tub. 

Lucio jumped, turning so quickly the water rippled violently. “I thought I said not to bother – oh.” 

His expression turned from rage to surprise to annoyance upon catching sight of her. 

“You.” He pointed a finger at her. “You are nearly five hours late. Do you know the things I had planned for you?” 

She crouched. “I can only guess.”  
“You missed out on what was sure to be the best tour of my menagerie I’d given anyone.” He pointed at her accusingly. 

She laughed and began tugging off her shirt. “What else?” 

“I – what else?” 

She tossed the shirt to the side and began working on shimmying out of her pants. “What else did you have planned?”

“Lots of things.” His voice had changed, had turned husky and dark. He’d slowly begun making his way over to her. 

“Like…?” Once she’d discarded her pants, she carefully dipped a toe in the water, testing it once before lowering herself into it completely. The water smelled pleasantly of clove and something sharp and clean – snow, perhaps? 

He’d stopped right in front of her. He looked nearly the same as the last time she’d seen him. His blonde hair was damp and fell and clung to his temples, but his eyes were still arrogant and his smirk still felt just as haughty and predatory as before. This time, he wore less eyeliner – it’d probably been washed off – and his eyes appeared wider, more vulnerable. 

“Like this.” He moved to lower his lips to hers, and he was but a breath away when she pressed a hand to his chest and gave him a little shove back. 

“I should drown you,” she said darkly. 

He looked affronted as he rubbed his chest where she had pushed. “For trying to kiss you?”

“I met Nadia outside.” She deadpanned. “She’s very nice.” 

“Oh.” His face already pale face drained of color. 

“Oh.” She smacked herself in the forehead. “I was getting to be a bit worried I was the only idiot in Vesuvia, but it’s nice to know I have company.”

“Hey. There’s lots of idiots in Vesuvia.”

They stared at each other. 

“And I’m not one of them.” 

She sighed and sunk lower in the water until her chin was submerged. “So that’s why you invited me then? To get a guaranteed lay before your date tonight?” 

Lucio backed away, as though she was going to actually drown him upon finding out his answer. 

“I mean – Yeah. I didn’t think you would be too offended by it, given the circumstances last time.” He looked as awkward as she’d ever seen him. Granted, she’d only met him once before, and the majority of that time wasn’t spent talking. 

“I think I expected the sex part.” She admitted, drawing a pattern onto the surface of the water with her finger. “The Satrinava part…” 

He cleared his throat. “I’ve been told by my advisors that it’s about time to begin looking for a wife.” 

Her eyes widened. 

“Don’t give me that look – I don’t plan to stop sleeping around.” He smirked. “I know you must be worried you’ll never have my d-.”

“Ugh.” She splashed at him. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.” 

“I did.” She admitted grudgingly. She sighed and sat up, her hair falling in wet strands down her neck and shoulders. She soothed it back and clasped her hands around the back of her neck. “I don’t want to get emotional on you -.”

“Please don’t.” 

“ – But I think do things on impulse.” 

Lucio sighed heavily. “Am I things?” 

“Yes.” She leaned against the wall of the tub. “I do things because I constantly am seeking validation – from myself, from my family, even from you of all people. I slept with you to prove that I could, and I felt terrible about myself after. Why is that?” 

“I’m starting to feel terrible.” Lucio grumbled, but she could tell he was listening. His eyes were trained on her, and he remained relatively silent as she spoke. 

“Even now, I came here to prove that I could. To prove to myself that I was capable. Why, though?” She laughed, bitterness creeping into her voice. 

“To have amazing sex with the rich and handsome Count of Vesuvia?” Lucio suggested. 

“No.” 

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Alright, you’re making me extremely late to my party, and not in the fun kind of way… The fun way would be if you were sucking my -.”

“I got it.”

“So, listen, and listen good because I’m only going to say this once: fuck other people. Fuck what they think of you – you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You seem like a decent magician, you have that chain thing, and you’re a smart girl. I think. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone – not even yourself. If you don’t want to have sex with me, then don’t. I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll find another warm body and get over it.And as much as it pains me to say it, we probably shouldn’t have fucked the first time. You obviously weren’t ready.” 

She rubbed at her eyes. “I know.” 

She heard the water move, and for a second she thought that he was drawing closer to her to comfort her. But just as she could feel his body heat, she felt him brush past her to hoist himself out of the water. She turned to look at him just as he was shrugging on a robe. His brow was scrunched and his mouth had settled into a thin line. 

He groaned and turned to her. “And I sent you that letter because – while, yes, I did want to fuck you – I could tell that you feel trapped in your little magical cliff city. A blind man could see that.” 

She stared up at him, mouth opening and shutting silently. 

“So, go explore, or something.” He gestured wildly at the world outside the terrace. “Enjoy my bathtub and your youth and when you’re ready come and see me.”  
He turned abruptly, squared his shoulders and marched towards the ornate golden doors that led out of the bathroom. 

“Lucio,” Kalida called out just as he was about to swing open the door. “Thank you.” 

He glanced at her over his shoulder just once, the corner of his lip twitching up in the smallest smirk she’d ever witnessed, before he opened the door and marched into the hallway. 

Kalida raced through the city. She had just taken a bath, but she was already sweating from the exertion and the humidity certainly wasn't aiding things. She pushed though groups of people crowding around the entrance to the palace, hoping to be lucky enough to get inside. She would've created a portal, but she didn't want to run into any more unsavory situations. Like transporting herself into the moat, or to her aunt's shop. 

When she finally made it to the bridge, she looked around, frantically searching for a mass of fluffy white hair. She secured Yxa inside her shirt as she hoisted herself up on the ledge, peering just above the crowd in search of Asra. He'd invited her here earlier, and although she declined she had been holding out the hope that maybe he'd still spend the night in what he said was his favorite spot. She could see why; from the railing she had a great view of the palace, and of the people who hat gathered around to rush into it. It was the perfect position to watch the fireworks later in the night, and to people watch during the festivities. 

But he was nowhere to be found. She tried to quell the disappointment in her chest - after all, it was her fault he wasn't there. He was charming enough, he'd probably wooed another into spending the evening with him. With a heavy sigh she sat down on the railing, feet dangling over the water below her as she stared at the palace in the distance. 

It was probably for the best that he isn't here, she decided after a moment. It gave her time to think, and Gods knew she needed to. 

For all his haughtiness and selfishness, Lucio had made good points. Her whole life she'd had so much to prove, so much to live up to. She hadn't realized the impossible standards she'd set until she'd slept with Lucio. And she probably would have again, had she not ran into Nadia in the garden. What a strange feeling, regret. Because she did regret that first encounter with Lucio - she'd been too young, and most importantly, she wasn't ready. 

I need to think more, make better choices, she thought to herself. 

Yxa squeeked against her chest, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught sight of the fireworks shooting through the air. With a jolt she realized that she'd been sitting there for longer than she thought. She soothed a hand over the ferret's head and watched a cloud of purple sparks erupt over the palace's tallest pillar. Absently, sparks shot out of the fingers of her free hand, mirroring the firework in the sky. 

"Being an adult starts with your choices, huh?" She murmured. 

She looked down at Yxa. "Lucio." The ferret tittered nervously (she was always nervous, nothing to worry about there.) 

Kalida snorted, looking up just as a firework erupted in the silhouette of the count. 

"Yeah, I can't believe he of all people taught me that either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the heart-to-heart with Lucio. It only happens once every decade.


	3. Magic Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was young, and most importantly, she had learned two years ago not to care too much about what other people thought of her. She went where she wanted, she did what she wanted, and she hardly took into consideration what others wanted of her. 
> 
> It was, admittedly, a selfish way to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Second Meeting: Asra and Kalida

_“Catastrophe!”_ Yxa chirped from her perch around Kalida’s shoulder.

Kalida could’ve sworn it sounded like the ferret was mocking her. 

It had been two years since Kalida had returned to Vesuvia – two years full of adventuring to the salt caves of Nevivon and the deserts of Nopal. It had only been two years since she’d last been in her aunt’s magic shop, but by the look of the shop it might as well have been a century.

The counter had been smashed and glass littered the floor in shards; the floor itself was lifted, with whole floor boards missing in some places. Pots full of dead plants hung from the ceiling, and drawers had been ripped from their nooks and flung across the room, their contents (which included several decayed and gelatinous deer hooves) littered the floor. Worst yet, the stairs that led to the living quarters had completely disappeared, leaving nothing but a hallway with a door halfway up the wall in its place. She dreaded what she would find upstairs. 

It was safe to say that Aunt Bathilda didn’t much care for the shop towards the end of her life. It was also safe to say that, even in death, the woman had a knack for making Kalida’s life more difficult. 

Bathilda had died the week before – a victim to one of her more dangerous magical experiments. By the look of the scorch marks that licked the walls and the dark carpet stained rust brown, Kalida very much doubted it was an experiment the Council would’ve approved of. Often times, those without a lick of magic would turn to darker venues of the occult in search of some form of power. It was especially true of those from Marodria – most felt like it was the only way they could measure up to the abundance of supremely magical residents of the city. 

To say the least, her aunt’s death was unfortunate, but not wholly unexpected. 

What was wholly unexpected was the fact that Bathilda had left the shop to Kalida. 

Kalida didn’t hate her aunt per se, but she hadn’t really known the woman. When she was younger, her mother would send all her siblings to visit Bathilda wherever she had settled at the time. Tomasz used to say it was to warn them of what would become if they didn’t take their magical studies seriously. In reality, Kalida knew it was because her mother valued family above everything, even if her sister was a bitter hedge witch con-artist. 

Then there were the few days she had spent “apprenticing” under her Aunt, and by “apprenticing” she meant spying on her aunt on behalf of her mother to make sure she wasn’t actually hurting anyone in the city she made a sale to. 

So, she hardly knew the woman, didn’t really like her, and would’ve rather cut off her hand before calling her master… 

_Ah, yes,_ Kalida thought scornfully, _this is punishment for not agreeing to fully be her apprentice._  
Perhaps Bathilda had been cleverer than she let on. 

Kalida stood in the doorway and stared at the mess in front of her in distaste. It was hers to do what she wanted with now; her other siblings refused to even help her clear it out, let alone take it on themselves. 

_“Sorry, little one.” Teyano had apologetically patted her head. “I hardly have the time to eat and sleep, let alone run a shop.”_

_Mirubella had laughed. “I don’t know the first thing about magic, and you know that. I hardly want to continue Bathilda’s legacy.”_

_“Don’t try and pass that cursed dump onto me.” Tomasz had said before she’d even the chance to ask him._

She waved her hand carelessly through their air and the lanterns (the ones that weren’t shattered on the floor, that is) flared to life. She visibly winced – it looked much worse in the light. Kalida took in the sight of the shattered jars dripping mysteriously neon liquids, the brown velvet curtains in front of the windows that were heavy with mold, and the book case where it appeared several books were either growling or smoking. 

She screamed as the biggest roach she’d ever seen in her life scuttled across the floor, just inches away from her foot. She watched in horror as it seemingly disappeared through a crack at the bottom of the wall. 

“Gods, this place really is cursed.” She pulled at a lock of her long hair in frustration. 

She had naively thought that she’d pack up the remaining contents of the shop, give it a quick clean, and then sell it to the highest bidder. But as she stared at the mess in front of her, realization dawned on her. Alone, it would take at least a week to clean up. Her siblings refused to step foot in the place, her mother and her father were busy running a city, and her best friend had his own business to worry about. It’s not like Bathilda had any friends who’d be willing to help her niece in honor of her memory. 

Kalida momentarily weighed the option of asking Lucio, but that idea was quickly squashed upon remembering what a fool she had made of herself last time she’d seen him. She was nineteen, and thoroughly embarrassed by the actions of her seventeen-year-old self. 

And then there was Asra. The white-haired fortune teller she had lazed away an afternoon with. She looked back on that afternoon more than she cared to admit, remembering the smoky taste of the tea and the way that her companion had looked at her as though she was the center of his universe. She had been used to admiration; she was the daughter of the Elder of an ancient magical city. But the simple intensity of his gaze, of the afternoon as a whole had been embedded into her memory. 

She couldn’t help but wonder where he was now. Was he putting the traveler’s charm she’d given him to good use? Or would she find him camped out on a corner in his tent, reading his tarot cards? 

It was the latter thought that gave her pause; for a single moment, she wondered what it would be like to stay in Vesuvia. She could clean up and run a well-respected shop, selling spells and potions to those who needed them. And in her dream, Asra was there, smiling so wide she could see the dimples that graced his cheeks. 

It was a lovely daydream, one that was wholly at odds with her reality. 

A shop meant responsibility – even worse, it meant commitment to one location. Sure, she occasionally sat on the council at home, and sometimes she put on street performances in the market place to entertain residents and guests alike, but her heart was never in Marodria. It was never anywhere, really. She spent most of her time away from home, visiting foreign lands and meeting foreign people, never staying in any one place for too long. 

She was young, and most importantly, she had learned two years ago not to care too much about what other people thought of her. She went where she wanted, she did what she wanted, and she hardly took into consideration what others wanted of her. 

It was, admittedly, a selfish way to live. One that put her at odds with Tomasz and worried her father even at the best of times. It was for that reason that she believed her mother insisted she took on the shop – even if it was away from home, it still required her too look after something other than Yxa and herself. It required her to be responsible, no matter if it was just for a few weeks. And she would prove she could – not because she particularly cared what her family thought of her (she knew they loved her in the end), but because a shop in that area of Vesuvia was worth a pretty penny, and she could further fund her trips without dipping into her family’s fortune and expand her horizons with money like that. 

Kalida stood up straight, took a deep breath, and cracked her knuckles. 

“I can do this.” 

“I cannot do this!”

Kalida snatched Yxa off the ground and sprinted across the shop, leaping up and onto the stool she had put into the corner. Not that the distance did much – the cockroach was nearly three feet in width and six feet in length. She watched in horror as it climbed the wall opposite to her at lightning speed, antennas twitching.

“What a fucking joke.” She hissed. She tucked Yxa into her shirt, and the ferret trembled against her skin. In her free hand, blue flames erupted. 

When dealing with a gigantic magically enhanced cockroach, burning it, and possibly it’s home, to the ground seemed like the only reasonable option. And of course it was magically enhanced – only moments before had Yxa been chasing the bug across the floor when it suddenly tripled in size, turned the color of molten lava, and opened its pincers to swallow the albino ferret whole. 

Bathilda and her schemes could burn in hell for all Kalida cared. 

Kalida would have darted out the door and sold the whole shop, mess and cockroaches included (she was sure she could find a buyer who’d be into that sort of thing) had the thing not been a few feet away from the door. A sticky black substance dripped from where its mouth was, and it watched her carefully, as if daring her to take a step forward.

Her head spun – was there a spell to kill bugs? Specifically, was there a spell to kill the freakishly large cockroach on the wall across from her in way that didn’t require her to move from the stool she was on? She couldn’t think of one. 

She took a deep breath, and, with the hand that wasn’t on fire, reached over to touch the wall next to her. She whispered a quick incantation under her breath, one that would fireproof the walls and floor of the shop itself so that she didn’t set the whole building ablaze. Not that she particularly minded at that point – the whole shop might as well have belonged to the roach, for all she cared. But she did want to avoid setting the neighboring shops alight, she’d been there for two days and she was sure they had heard her cursing the shop and the world as a whole from across the street. But cleaning up magical messes was hard. As evident by the magical roach that wanted to bite her head off. 

A wave of silver washed over the walls, making them glimmer for a second before they returned to their usual state of stained brick. She lifted her fiery hand up to her mouth and aimed carefully, squinting one eye shut to get the best view of its head. 

She took a deep breath and blew at the flame. The roach reared up onto its hind legs and let out a monstrous hiss just as fire erupted in a thin, precise line from the flame in her hand. It shot towards the roach, and just as the blue heat reached the roach, the beast opened its mouth, revealing a circular black pit filled with layers of sharp, brown teeth. It seemingly sucked up the flame, and Kalida watched in horror as the creature’s eyes flashed the same blue as her fire. 

She had mere seconds to leap off the stool and onto the floor, narrowly missing her the stream of blue as it was shot back towards her. The stool immediately burst into flames, and the woman rolled away from it towards the book shelves where the books' growling was reaching a fever pitch.

“Oh, shut up.” She snapped at the literature. The roach had began scaling the wall and was making its way quickly onto the ceiling. She grabbed blindly at one of the books and threw it up at the creature. The bug snatched it up out of the air with its mouth, splattering the wall with a thick layer of black drool and swallowing the thing whole. 

The bug was playing with her – she realized that if it wanted to eat her it would have done it by now. No, hunger was the last thing on its mind. The beast wanted to kill her, and it wanted to make the process as slow and painful as possible. Kalida suddenly regretted killing several other roaches the day before – it was probably getting revenge for the deaths of its cousins. 

“Asra!” Yxa trembled against her. 

“Now is _not_ the time to – oh my Gods, Asra, watch out!” 

For the first time in years, she saw the familiar shape of the white-haired fortune teller. He stood in the doorway of the shop; hands braced against the frame as he took in the sight with wide, slightly panicked eyes. 

And what a sight it must’ve been: Kalida was on all fours by the book case, covered in dust with an equally filthy ferret poking its head outside of the neck of her shirt. The shop was in disarray, a stool was on fire in the corner, the books were growling and barking, and, most importantly, _there was a giant fucking fire-breathing cockroach on the ceiling_. 

The roach turned to hiss at Asra; its mouth opened wide, causing a cascade of black slide to fall to the floor as it reared back. Kalida snatched up another book from the shelf and threw it at the creature. The book clumsily bounced off of its carapace, but it was enough to get its attention back on her. Its body turned quickly to face her, and she pushed herself off the ground and ran towards the broken glass counter and towards the door. 

“Kalida!” Asra shouted. He reached into the messenger back slung around his shoulder and produced a dagger, throwing the small blade over to her. She caught it easily by the hilt and whispered an enchantment under her breath, jumping out of the way just in time as the creature fell from the ceiling and crushed the glass counter completely. Glass shot everywhere; she felt a shard slice her forehead, and almost immediately blood gushed out of the flayed skin and into her eye. 

The dagger in her hand doubled in size until it was a sword, and Kalida skidded as she darted around the monster in front of her. The sword in her hand levitated until it was eye level with the creature’s head, and just as the roach turned to face her, she shoved her hand forward and the blade shot away from her and sunk into the creatures mouth, disappearing into the black abyss of it’s throat. 

In a moment of peace, the bug froze and blinked its large eyes at her.

And then it exploded into a sticky mess of black goo. 

Kalida shut her eyes, and her arms immediately came up to shield her face from what was inevitably going to be a disgusting, sticky mess she’d have to clean off herself. It took her a second to realize that the mess never came, and as she lowered her arms, she realized that there was a purple, spherical shield surrounding the bug. The shield soon began to melt away, leaving behind a pile of thick black slime with a sword stuck through the middle. 

Kalida quickly and carefully stepped around the slime and made her way determinately to the door. Asra lowered his hands and took a few backwards steps to make way for her, and as soon as she crossed the threshold, she slammed the door behind her. 

She leaned against the wood and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a deeply calming breath. 

“Well,” Asra drawled. “I’ll admit this is not how I expected to find you.”

She cracked open her good eye to look at him. “What? You didn’t expect me to be fighting a magically enhanced cockroach?”

“I’ll admit that particular fantasy eluded me. For good reason, I think.” 

She laughed, her head falling back against the door as her body trembled with the laughter that had been escaping her since she’d been back in Vesuvia. 

Her eyes twinkled when she opened them, and she raised her hand to wipe away tears – whether they were tears of relief or not, she wasn’t sure. What Kalida was sure of was that, despite everything, she felt joyful. 

When she pulled her hand away, it was with a jolt that she noticed how it was covered in thick red fluid. She reached up and pressed her fingers to the cut on her forehead, wincing when she made contact. 

Asra tutted at her, grabbing her fingers gently and pulling them away from the wound. He quickly unwrapped the bright scarf that was wrapped around his waist and raised it to her head. She quickly turned away before he could make contact. 

“You’ll ruin it,” she muttered. She grabbed his wrist to stop his hand from coming any closer. 

He raised a thick, white eyebrow. “I’ll buy another scarf.” 

Her hand fell away from his wrist as he gently brought the cloth to the cut, applying pressure to stop the blood flow. 

“Hold that there.” He instructed. 

She raised her hand and placed it over where his held the scarf to her forehead. 

He broke out into a grin. “I meant the scarf, not my hand. Although, that’s nice too.” 

She smiled back at him, and she wasn’t quite sure if it was the blood loss or his proximity that made her feel light headed. 

He lifted the scarf away from her hand, quickly covering the wound with the palm of his free hand. She felt the skin of her forehead tingle as the skin knit itself back together, and when he moved his palm away the bleeding had stopped completely. 

He made quick work of wiping the rest of her face clean of blood, tilting her chin back and forth to make sure he didn’t miss a spot. 

“There,” he murmured. “All clean.” 

“Thank you,” she said, finally breaking her silence. 

“I think you did most of the work.” He laughed lightly. 

She shoved at his shoulder playfully. “Thank you for the sword.” 

“It was a dagger. You made it into a sword.” 

“And thank you for the first-aid.” 

“I think you probably could’ve healed yourself in a few seconds flat.” 

“Someone once told me to not be embarrassed by your own magic…” 

She watched as his face flushed red, and he averted his gaze away form her and towards the ground. 

She tapped him on the bottom of the chin, nudging his face up so that his eyes met hers. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

He seemed to be holding his breath, and just as he exhaled and his mouth opened to respond, Kalida’s shirt burst into flames. 

“Yxa!” Kalida jumped back, batting at her shirt with one hand and with the other removing the ferret and holding it’s flaming body in the air as the animal squeaked and squirmed. 

“I’m sorry.” Kalida extinguished her shirt, luckily the weasel had only burned a whole in the middle, exposing her chain and her belly button. “She get’s really nervous sometimes.” 

It was as though a spell broke, Asra’s shoulders immediately relaxed and he rubbed his neck which was still a little pink. 

“This really isn’t my day,” she grumbled. 

“I can see that.” Asra nodded towards the shop behind her. “Mind explaining what happened?” 

And so, once she managed to extinguish her familiar, Kalida told him everything. They settled onto the stoop in front of the shop, Kalida folded her legs under her and placed Yxa onto her lap as she recounted everything from the moment she’d found out about her Bathilda’s death, to moments before when the battle with the roach had started. 

Asra listened, and Gods knew he didn’t have to; she hadn’t seen in him in two years, hadn’t kept her promise to meet him on the bridge at the following masquerade. But he did, and he did so quietly, nodding along at all the right bits and offering her his waterskin when her mouth became dry from talking too much. 

“… and now I’m here.” She gestured around herself lamely. “Stuck with an even bigger mess than when I first arrived, and possibly a magical cockroach infestation. Go figure.” 

Asra, legs folded in front of him and his head propped up in his hand, looked behind him at the closed shop door. “And you can’t just, you know, give it to someone else in your family?” 

She shook her head. “Nope, no one wants it... And I think my mom is trying to teach me responsibility.” 

He tilted his head at her.

“I’ve been kind of… nomadic? These last few years.” She supplied, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“Last time I saw you, you said that you had duties back home…” 

Kalida flushed. “I did, but then I talked with someone after and they kind of convinced me I should… I don’t know, only answer to myself? I’m too young to have duties, especially when there’s a whole world out there waiting for me to explore it, right?” 

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Oh, to be young.” 

She tugged lightly at a lock of his hair. “Mhm, and you’re so old, are you?” 

“I might as well be. If having responsibilities make you old, then I must be ancient.” He looked away from her and towards the setting sun. She watched as his eyes grew distant, and wondered where his mind was running off to. 

“Asra…?” 

His attention snapped back towards her, and he laughed, but the sound wasn’t as genuine as before. “I’ve had to take care of myself since I was young. I – my parents disappeared one day, and after that it was up to me to keep myself alive.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely before smacking herself in the forehead. “Gods, and here I am, whining about how my family wants me to settle down and own a business. I’m sorry, I’m so stupid -”

“Hey, now.” He touched her wrist, gently moving it away from her face. “Don’t apologize – it’s not like you knew.” 

She wilted slightly. “Still, I must sound like a brat. I’m so used to knowing what I’m doing, and going where life takes me because I know that that’s what I want to do. I never realized how… privileged I’ve been to be able to live that way for so long.” 

A loud roar erupted from inside the shop, shaking the windows in the panes and making the pair on the stoop jump out of their seats. Yxa gave her a dirty look as she rolled onto the ground. 

“I swear,” she practically spit. “I cannot sell this place fast enough. You wouldn’t be interested in buying a magic shop, would you?” 

Asra snorted. “I don’t think I can afford it.”

She yelped as another roar shook the shop. “I’ll give you a discount.” 

His laugh broke off as he turned towards her. “Listen, I’ll help you clear this place out and clean it up.” 

“On what condition?” She narrowed her eyes at him. 

“No condition.” He shook his head. “It’s obvious you need help, and that’s what friends do.” 

She stared up at him, momentarily speechless. 

_Were they friends?_

“B-but you don’t know me.” She stammered. “And I’ve been terrible to you – I ditched you two years ago, and then never came back for the next masquerade. And I almost got you eaten by a giant cockroach and whined to you about minor inconveniences and –” 

“True.” He interrupted. Asra rubbed his chin pensively, staring out into the distance before brightening and turning back towards her. “So, in return you can teach me how to control fire as well as you do.” 

She paused, still dumbstruck not only by his offer of help, but by his request. It wasn’t an equal exchange at all, and they both knew it. Fire, at least, the basics of fire, could be understood within a day, but only those with a natural affinity to it ever learned how to master it as she had. 

“But –”

He covered her mouth with his hand. “No buts.”

As if on cue, another roar, the loudest yet, erupted from the shop. It shook the walls so hard that the glass in the window pane cracked down the middle.   
Their eyes darted from the shop back towards each other. 

She licked at his palm and he yanked it away with a playfully outraged cry of disgust. 

“Deal.” 

With help, the shop was surprisingly easy to clean up. Especially when Asra knew more than her when it came to potions; she had designated the cleaning of suspicious liquids to him. As it turned out, they discovered that there had been a spill of a failed batch of engorgement and absorption potions under the shattered counter, which explained why the cockroach infestation had become significantly more magical than normal. Asra made quick work of creating a reversal potion which they quickly gave to the remaining cockroaches before exterminating them once they couldn’t grow ten times bigger and bite their heads off. 

The rest came easier after that; within the span of three days they swept up the glass and fixed the floor, they built a new counter from the remnants of the old one and disposed of the heavy, moldy tapestry that shut the light away, they also fed the books dust mites which made them stop growling (Asra had informed her they only did so when they were hungry) and they replaced the drawers and the shelving so that everything was in order.

At night, after working, they’d sit on the newly renovated floor of the shop and eat dinner. Kalida would drink too much wine, and rather than teach Asra about the fundamentals of fire, the pair would end up laughing, recounting stories from their lives, and sitting much to close to each other. 

It was towards the end of nights like those when Kalida would sit next to Asra, their backs against the wall and her head on his shoulder as he would lay his cards out on the floor before them. She wasn’t familiar with tarot and the Arcana, and she’d listen to him explain each card, voice soft and full of reverence. 

“Who taught you all of this?” Kalida asked one night. Her eyes were heavy from the wine, and the was nothing but soft candlelight illuminating her face. 

Asra was quiet, and for a second she thought he wouldn’t respond at all. He reached over, careful not to jostle her head where it lay on his shoulder, and picked up The Magician card. A fox with a sly smile and purple eyes was painted on the front. 

“Would you believe me if I told you it was the spirit of The Magician?” He asked so softly she wasn’t sure that she heard correctly.

She lifted her head off of his shoulder to look at him fully, and he turned his head to meet her eyes. 

“Asra.” She said his name the same way she would begin her prayers as a child, full of reverence. “I would believe anything you told me.” 

They were so close the tip of his nose just brushed hers, and she watched as his eyes darted down to her lips before returning to lock with her own gaze. He turned his face away just as she started to lean in, clearing his throat and leaning forward to gather up his cards. 

“I should get going,” he said. “We have more work to do tomorrow.” 

She sank back against the wall in dejection and watched as he gathered his things and disappeared into the night. 

The next day, despite Kalida’s mild headache – she didn’t tolerate alcohol well, which was unfortunate, considering how much she consumed it – they decided to tackle their final obstacle: the missing staircase. 

“I could conjure one.” She rubbed her temple, squinting against the bright morning light. 

He hummed and crossed his arms as he regarded the space where the stairs used to be. “You could, but then whatever may be up there can just walk down here to get to us. Given the previous residents…” 

“Don’t want to give any magical creature an easier path to eating us. Got it.” She tried not to let her gaze linger on the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up to expose the gloriously golden muscle of his forearms. “Any other suggestions?” 

He tilted his head towards her, a lazy smile spreading on his face. “You could leave it to whoever owns the shop next to find out…” 

She hit his arm playfully. “Tempting, but I don’t want to be responsible if someone else else gets eaten.” 

She sighed and approached the hallway, walking to where the hall ended and the wall began. She looked up at where the ledge was that led to the upstairs before turning her head towards Asra and nodding towards the wall. 

“Let’s do it the old-fashioned way. Give me a lift, why don’t you?” 

His eyes widened. “What if there’s something dangerous up there?” 

“Then I’ll magic it away. Or kill it.” She paused thoughtfully. “Or maybe I’ll let it eat me and then you can have the shop.” 

At his distraught expression she held her hands up placatingly. “I’m kidding, dear. Now, c’mon. Nothings going to eat me.” 

He begrudgingly moved towards her, clasping his hands together so that she could step onto them and hoist herself up onto the ledge. 

“Don’t look up my skirt.” She teased as she huffed and grabbed the ledge, pulling herself up slowly and falling face first onto the floor of the landing. 

“You okay?” She heard Asra ask from below. 

She lifted her head up, surveying the room in front of her and preparing herself for the worst. At this point, the worst meant something along the lines of a soul-sucking demon cockroach immune to swords as well as flames. What she saw surprised her more. 

She turned and peered over the ledge down at Asra. “Move back, I’m gonna make some stairs.” 

He hesitated before walking back towards the end of the hallway. She placed her hands over the blank space, and, with some struggle, pulled at the strings of the aether. Before both their eyes materialized a rickety wooden staircase. 

“Where did you get these from?” Asra’s voice was colored with surprise, and maybe a little skepticism. 

She shrugged. “I dunno – I think they’re from a dock in Nevivon.” 

He quickly ascended the stairs to join her on the landing. “Some sailor is going to be extremely unhappy – oh, wow.” 

She pushed herself up off the ground and took in the sight before them once more. The living space was pleasantly illuminated by the morning sun, and they could hear birds titter from outside. There was a hand-crafted table with two chairs in the center, and a cozy kitchen space next to it. The windows were lined with various types of succulents, and purple curtains hung lazily on each side of the wooden window pane. A salamander snoozed on top of the stove, its pale blue chest rising and falling with each breath. 

The wooden floor was worn, but intact, and the walls were painted a pale yellow. A room branched off from the kitchen, and they both peered through the doorway to find a seemingly soft bed, heaped with various jewel-toned quilts and two large, fluffy pillows. There was a teak wood nightstand and a matching dresser across from it. A room connected to the bedroom, complete with a claw-foot tub, and other bathroom requirements. 

Kalida had grown up in what formerly was a great stone temple on the very edge of a cliff. It was complete with huge rose-quartz tubs, a garden with a waterfall, and she always had her own room complete with a ginormous plush bed and a balcony. But there, in the small cozy living quarters, was the first time she’d ever felt truly at home. 

“Amazing.” She heard Asra breathe next to her, and she was suddenly struck out of her daze. “Has it always been like this?” 

She shook her head, turning in a circle to take it all in once more. “No, when Bathilda lived here it was dark and gaudy. Everything was leather and dark wood. This is… I mean it must be -”

“Magic.” Asra finished for her. “A spell that creates a living space fit for whoever is living there at the time. Complicated stuff.” 

Kalida would have scoffed had she not been so stunned. “No way Bathilda could ever pull something like that off.” 

“I didn’t say she did.” He walked over to the nightstand and picked up something Kalida couldn’t quite see. “But she was the sister of one of the most powerful magicians alive, right?” 

She peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at and froze. It was a frame holding a small portrait of herself. Of herself, and of Asra. In the portrait they sat on the floor of the empty shop, a maroon blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and her head was laying on Asra’s shoulder. Her sleepy gaze was trained on him, eyes full of what she could only describe as admiration while he spread his tarot deck in front of him on the wooden floor, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

Her eyes flickered from the portrait over to him, watching as his lips parted and as his eyes widened. He placed the picture down abruptly, turning on his heel and walking quickly into the main room. She gave the portrait one last glance before turning and joining him. 

“Well,” he said brightly, “You don’t have to sleep on the floor downstairs anymore.” 

“I – no, I suppose not.” She crossed her arms over her mid-section. 

He didn’t answer, instead choosing to walk over to the window and stare down at the street below. 

“I actually – I mean, I don’t really have to sleep here anymore at all. Not for much longer anyway, I mean, now that the shop is fixed up and I know there isn’t a giant rat up here ready to eat whoever moves in after me…” 

“You can leave.” He said the words so softly she could hardly hear him. 

“I can leave.” But the words didn’t excite her like they did a week ago. In fact, the idea of leaving this place behind, even the downstairs for all she had hated it mere days ago, was enough to cause her heart to clench. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed a wad of cotton, and while she opened her mouth to say more, she could hardly get a sound out, let alone the words to fill the empty space between them. 

“I hope you find someone who’s interested then.” He said finally, and her shoulders sunk. He turned to face her, and the smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I should get back to my tent. It’s bad, if business is stopped for too long.” 

He touched her shoulder, just a gentle brush of his fingertips against her bare skin, as he walked past her, hesitating before he descended the stairs. 

He turned on his heel. “Before you leave – ah – before you leave can you let me know? Send Yxa to find me, so that I can say goodbye properly.” 

It was with a jolt that Kalida realized that her eyes were watering, and that her nose felt stuffed. She turned away from him, wiped at her face somewhat frantically to clear it of tears – Gods, _why_ was she crying? 

“I – ok.” She said, clearing her throat. 

It was only when she heard him descend the stairs, and the door to the shop open and close did she let her tears fall.

If she had a magic shop, what would she do with it? 

In the week following the discovery of the living quarters, that was the question that that plagued her mind every moment of every day. 

For the first time in her life, Kalida let herself explore the city of Vesuvia without anyone to guide her. Asra’s absence weighed heavy on her heart, and her nights upstairs, while comfier, were still particularly lonely. Loneliness was something she’d hardly ever encountered on her travels. She’d surrounded herself with strangers, pirates from Hespiria and consorts from Prakra. She’d spent evenings with royalty, and evenings in slums playing dice. 

And yet, she couldn’t help but feel that, even when surrounded by people, there would be an ache within her impossible to fill without the presence of a certain white-haired fortune teller. 

She occupied her days by roaming the market – putting up hand-written posters advertising the sale of the shop and asking herself that singular question: _If I had a magic shop, what would I do with it?_

Well, if she had a magic shop, she’d probably sell herbs and flowers that were good for potions and charms. Lilly of the Valley was good to mend broken heart strings, and jade pendants could purify the soul after a weekend of drinking. Moonstone, if brewed in lemon juice and thyme, under a full moon could produce a tonic strong enough to cure any cold. There were spells she knew to aid in conception, spells to ward off spirits, spells to remember (she’d always been particularly good at those.)

She’d sell the charms and spells, of course. Traveler’s charms carved from aquamarine and charms for luck made from amber and a single sunflower petal. The incantations were easy enough – she’d learned when she was younger. And maybe she’d teach those who were interested in magic the basics – how to start a fire, how to manipulate water, how to heal small cuts. She wouldn’t charge much, she wouldn’t really want to – Vesuvian’s didn’t have a lot of magical knowledge, and she wondered if she could trade them for the practical knowledge they did have. 

Soon, her nights were spent grinding various herbs and bones into powders, leaning over spell books, and brewing up tonics and potions. Soon, there were tapestry’s with runes and bright, colorful patterns native to Marodria hanging from the shops walls. The drawers behind the counter were filled with charms and herbs, and underneath the counter’s glass were various charms and spelled items. A self-writing quill and a feather duster that cleaned whenever there was dust, to name a few.

Her home upstairs had become pleasantly lived in, and downstairs everything was orderly and well-stocked. When she walked through the market, she began taking down the fliers advertising the building's sale. Instead she bought brightly colored oils which glowed from just a touch of her hand. She brought long fabric to make into a curtain for the room off in the corner of the shop, and she bought a table and two velvet chairs. She bought a crystal ball, outdated as she knew they were, but no tarot cards. She hoped wouldn’t need them. 

On the day she sent Yxa to go get Asra, she lit the lantern in front of the shop for the first time and hung up her small wooden sign with a mortar and pestle on it.   
She waited nervously outside the shop, wringing her hands and pacing back and forth in front of the door – what would he think?

She froze almost as soon as the question entered her mind. How long had it been since she wondered what anyone else thought of her?

Surprisingly, it was not a bad feeling to wonder about another’s feelings. She felt butterflies in her stomach, and she could hardly keep still, but it was not a bad feeling at all. 

When Asra approached, she was surprised to see that he was holding Yxa, who was usually too nervous to let anyone but Kalida hold her. 

He gestured to the ferret. “You called?” 

He didn’t seem upset – his smile was the slightest bit sad and restrained, but his lavender eyes were bright and alert. 

Kalida opened her mouth, shut it, opened it, before dumbly pointing at the sign above her. 

He froze, looking between the sign, the lantern lit behind her, and her. “Did you…?”

Her stupor broke, and she clapped her hands together and let out a squeal of excitement. She ran the short distance to him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the shop. The oil lanterns illuminated the interior warmly, the light glinting off the various potion bottles and gems. A duster dusted the counter on its own, and the books snoozed on their bookshelf. Candles of various colors dripped wax onto the glass of the counter, and swaths of wispy fabric hung from the rafters. 

For the first time in its being, the space looked like a true magic shop. 

“Lida.” He breathed. His hand fell absently, and Yxa fell out of his grip and scampered to the corner where a small pillow had been set up for her to sleep.   
Faust popped out from his scarf and swiveled her scaly purple head around. 

_“Pretty!”_

Kalida threw open her arms and spun in a wide circle. “Do you like it? I just threw it together – I’ve only really had a week to make the charms, the poultices, the spelled objects – a broom nearly attacked me last night because I cast wrong – but I think it’s coming together alright. I think once customer’s start coming in, I’ll get a better idea of what the people of _Vesuvia_ need, you know? And then there’s –”

She broke off as he suddenly grabbed her hand and pulled her into a hug. She froze for a second, before wrapping her arms around him tightly and burying her face into his chest. She breathed in deeply, taking in the smell of smoky tea and cinnamon.

“It’s wonderful.” He murmured into her hair. 

She looked up with him, chin resting against his chest. “You really like it?” 

“I do.” He brushed a piece of hair away from her face. 

She had to force herself to pull away from the warmth of his chest, heart racing as she took his hand. “I have one more surprise for you then.” 

She walked backwards, leading him to the room connected to the main shop. She pulled open the curtain to reveal a small room, fit with a table covered in a strip of rich purple silk and two velvet settees on either side of it. 

“I just…” She trailed off, gesturing to the room. “I don’t know how to read tarot, and I thought that a true magic shop should have someone who should.” 

Asra stared at the room in front of him, face worryingly blank. 

“I would pay you.” She blurted out. “And you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I mean, I could teach myself how to. I just thought that we could be…” She trailed off, handing falling uselessly to her side. Belatedly, she realized that her other hand was still firmly entwined with Asra’s. 

“We could be…?” He inquired. 

“Partners.” She finished lamely. She worried her lip between her teeth, a habit she hadn’t fallen back into since her early teens. 

Suddenly, his face lit up like the sun. A genuine smile spread onto his face, showing two rows of perfect, white teeth. His dimple creased his cheek and his eyes twinkled with what may have been tears. 

He let go of her hand only to caress her face, a hand on each cheek, and angle her face up towards him. Her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest, and her lips parted in wonder as she stared up at the unadulterated joy on his face. 

“I would love to be your partner, Kalida.”

For the first time in her life, Kalida began to understand what home meant.


	4. The Love Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was scary,” she admitted. “Nobodies ever tried to kill me before.”
> 
> “That’s mildly surprising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kalida and Asra are good magicians, but really bad detectives.

Dawn broke upon Vesuvia, the first few rays of the sun casting a warm, dim glow over the quiet city. The streets were unusually empty, with the exception of a few straggling fishermen heading to the docks to begin their day. Shop keeps in the market had hauled themselves out of bed, having to prepare their wares for the day ahead. The grass was bright green and dewy, and the stone of the streets was still damp from the rain only awhile before. 

And as the sun rose, the air heated up and it was with a sense of foreboding that those awake regarded the unusual temperature spike. Already, the baker sweat at his hearth and the fishermen wiped their brows and stared with malice at the sun. Parents rocked their squalling children, their own faces red with the exertion, no matter how mild.

Despite the unusual warmth, the owner of Vesuvia’s sole magic shop was still asleep. Kalida Zecane was hunched over her kitchen table with her face plastered against an old spell book. An albino ferret was wrapped around the leg of the chair she sat on, slumbering dutifully beneath its master.  
In her small kitchen, a single pot sat on the stove, and despite the fact that the blue stove salamander had retired to wood pile for the evening, the silver liquid inside the pot bubbled ferociously. However, it was not the boiling potion that woke up the magician, but a sudden, frantic pounding on the front door of her shop, a pounding which seemed to shake the very foundation of the building. 

Kalida awoke with a violent jolt upon hearing the noise. She blinked blearily, and brushed her hair up and away from her face where it had fallen. Her neck ached from being bent over all night, and when she rubbed her cheek, she was surprised to find her hand smeared with ink which, no doubt, had transferred from the book onto her face when she slept. She smacked her lips, and went to lay her head back upon the book, ink be damned, before the banging sounded through her home once again, this time more violently than before. 

She stood with a huff, moving so violently that the chair beneath her toppled back, nearly upturning Yxa who had been sleeping soundly. The ferret made a hissing noise before scampering away from her and into the bedroom. 

Kalida spared a glance at the pot on the stove and nearly jumped out of her skin upon seeing how the liquid threatened to spill over the sides. She hurried over to the stove, momentarily ignoring the pounding at her door, and tended to the potion. She snatched up a bottle of white wine from the counter and murmured soothing words to the liquid as she dumped the alcohol into it. Almost immediately the silver liquid turned fluorescent green and eased to a simmer. The potion receded from the edges of the pot despite more liquid being poured in, and rocked back and forth happily. 

The pounding ceased, and Kalida slumped over the stove, hands gripping the counters edge in an attempt to tether her to the waking realm. Her eyes drifted closed, and just as her mind began to settle, a huge rock slammed into her window, cracking the glass with a hair-raising smash. 

Her eyes snapped open, and she grit her teeth. Her heart beat rapidly, and adrenaline rushed through her, only serving to further fuel her growing anger. She snatched up the bottle of wine, took a deep drink, and slammed it back on the counter before rushing out of her kitchen. She nearly tripped halfway down the stairs in her haste. By the time she reached the shop door her chest was heaving, her eyes were slightly deranged and blood-shot, and her hair was curling viciously as though it had a mind of its own. 

“We’re not _open_ yet!” She shouted into the early morning air as she threw open the door to the shop with such force that she nearly cracked the rest of the windows. 

The man who stood before her looked no older than herself – he was her height, with thin blonde hair, a down-turned nose, and wide, scared brown eyes. He wore the thick, sturdy boots and the brown canvas pants typical of most fishermen and laborers. His muscled arm was poised in the air, as though he meant to knock again before she opened the door. 

He glanced at his hand and shakily lifted it away from the door in favor of running it through his hair. He offered her a wry smile. 

“I – it’s urgent?” His voice rose an octave as he finished the short sentence. 

“Is someone dead?”

“Well, n-no.”

“Is someone _dying_?”

“N-no.” 

She placed her hands on either side of the doorway and leaned closer towards him. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. 

“Then I think it wise for you to come back in three hours when we open.”

She fell back and moved to slam the door shut, but just as she did a boot wedged itself between the door and the frame.

Kalida groaned. She rubbed her cheeks furiously, skin tingling as she magically cleaned herself of smeared ink. She ran her other hand over her hair, soothing the writhing curls into submission. Next, she fixed her dress, which, to her surprise, had somehow turned nearly all the way backwards in the night. Strange, given the fact she was sitting in a chair and sleeping.

With a heavy sigh she opened the door, slower this time, and surveyed the boy on the other side. His face was red, and his eye twitched in pain, but his face otherwise appeared quite determined. 

Kalida jerked her head inside the shop, and the young man immediately scurried in. He nearly tripped over his own two feet, and she quickly grabbed his arm to steady him before kicking the door shut behind him. 

The grapefruit sized crystal globe that hung delicately above the door glowed to life, flaring a bright coral color. Upon entering, the globe read her customer’s auras – that way she had a better idea of what state of mind they were in upon entering her shop. For example, if someone was enraged that their lover had left them for another, the orb would flare red, and Kalida would be less inclined to sell them a self-navigating flying dagger. Coral, especially that bright, usually meant anxiety and panic. 

She let go of the man and backed slowly away from him to haul herself up and onto the edge of the counter. She spun herself around gracefully and slipped off the glass surface to stand on the other side of it. 

“Sorry about that,” she said half-heartedly. “I don’t take kindly to being woken up at five in the morning to the sound of glass cracking.”

He rubbed his neck, eyes downcast. “I – Sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” 

“Obviously. But I appreciate your tenacity” She leaned forward, and waved a hand at him, signaling for him to go on. “You’ve woken me up, so please, what’s so urgent that you couldn’t wait a few more hours before sharing it with me?” 

He cleared his throat, and straightened up to look her in the eye. His hands still trembled, but he managed to maintain eye contact with her. 

“My fiancée left me.” He fidgeted. “And I think she’s under the effects of a love potion.” 

Her brow furrowed. “Why do you think that?” 

“I – well, it just happened so suddenly. We were perfectly happy, and then four months ago she leaves in the middle of the night –”

Kalida held up a hand to silence him. “Hold on, she left you four months ago?” 

He hesitated before nodding.

She dropped her hand. “Then why have you woken me up at the crack of dawn, four months after she left you, to share your concerns?” 

“I would’ve come sooner!” He said defensively. “If I had known that there were proper magicians in the city now! Woman I work with told me she’d bought a bag of ground up dragon scales from you to sprinkle in her garden to keep the gnomes out. Thought she was crazy, buying things from the old witch that used to own the shop before she told me the old witch had died and now there were a pair of actual magicians running it.” 

“We’ve been open about four months.” She admitted, tone lacking its previous bite.

The man appeared almost smug. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” she said. “Why do you think she’d under the effects of a love spell?” 

“I think she’s under the effects of a love potion.” 

“No such thing.” She waved a hand and a book shot off the book shelf and into her hand, nearly smacking the boy in the head during its flight. She caught it easily and placed it on the counter. With another wave of her hand the book fluttered open to a page with an illustration of a women with a pink haze around her head. Her heart, which could be seen through her chest, was bright pink and stuck with black thorns. 

“Love potions don’t exist, love spells do, and the only way to break a love spell is with an anti-love spell potion. However, the effects of an anti-love spell potion, a.k.a. a love spell antidote, can be reversed by a love spell if said original spell holds immunity to anti-love spell potions.” 

He blinked at her. “Come again?” 

She turned the book to face him. “If she really is under a love spell, the only way to lift the spell is by brewing a highly complicated, highly expensive antidote potion.” 

He nodded slowly, staring at the book and rubbing his chin. “So, I can just buy all the ingredients from you, and then you can tell me how I can make the spell?” 

The book slammed shut with a flick of her wrist, and the young man jumped back. 

“Absolutely not,” she said.

He looked affronted. “But then how am I supposed to save her?” 

“Love spell cures are notoriously dangerous to make. All it takes is a shaky hand and too much basilisk venom and boom your heart explodes.” A puff of turquoise smoke exploded from her hand for dramatic effect. “No, I’ll make it for you.” 

His eyes shone hopefully. “Really?” 

She nodded. “Really.”

“What’ll it cost?”

Kalida said nothing. Her finger drew a pattern absently against the glass as she stared at the man before her. He was so hopeful, and yet so scared at the same time; he carried himself in a way that told her that he’d faced disappointment all his life, and yet he still persevered. He still worked, he still fought for what he wanted. Admiral qualities, sure, but that didn’t always make for someone who took rejection easily. 

“No price.” She was quiet when she spoke. “No price only because love spells are nasty things. Nobody deserves to have their free-will stripped from them just for the satisfaction of another. I’ll do it for free, but on one condition.” 

“Name it.” He had walked right into the counter, nodding frantically at her. 

“I have to see this girl – your old fiancée – to see if she’s really under a love spell. If she is, then I’ll make the potion free of charge. If she isn’t… Then I think it’s time you move on.” 

“She is.” He said. “I promise you – Lucy would never act that way. Something has to be wrong.” 

“Something may be,” She said warily. “But I need to see it for myself. It’ll be much easier for a Magician to notice if a love spell has been cast than someone like – well, someone like you who’s just going off a hunch.”

The book between them floated up and back towards the bookshelf, and on the space in previously occupied appeared a piece of parchment and a fountain pen. 

“Write her information onto there. Name, age, physical description, and where she works would be most helpful.” 

He nearly flung the pen off the counter in his haste to grab it. He wrote onto the parchment, careful not to smudge the ink as he went. 

“This magician has a name, by the way.” She pointed at herself. “Kalida.”

He glanced up at her from the parchment. “I’m Aster.” 

She plucked the parchment from his hand and examined it carefully. 

_Lucy Olsen, 18_

_Blonde hair, medium height, medium build, green eyes_

_Works as a barmaid at the Rowdy Raven_

“Come by tomorrow night, Aster. I’ll tell you if she’s under the spell, and if she is, we can get to work on helping her.” She placed the parchment onto the counter once more to let it dry fully.

Aster’s lip wobbled suddenly, and his eyes became glassy. “I – thank you. Thank you so much, really. You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“I -.” She swallowed. “It’s my job. No problem at all.” 

He opened his mouth as though he planned on saying more, but instead just nodded once more and turned on his heel, quickly exiting the shop. Just as he opened the door, he nearly collided with Asra who was on his way inside. Aster apologized profusely before darting out and into the warm morning air.  
Asra turned to her, brows raised in surprise as he situated the paper bag in his arms to rest on his hip. “Busy morning?” 

“He cracked my window.” She slumped back against the shelves. “And woke me up early.” 

He _tsked_ , but the noise sounded more amused than anything. 

“I just remembered why I work mornings.” He reached over the counter and tapped her on the nose. 

“He was desperate. Didn’t have it in me to turn him away.” She swatted his hand away, but moved to lean over the counter and peer into the contents of the bag. “What’s in there?” 

He reached inside and pulled out a thick, crusty loaf of what was undeniably pumpkin bread. Almost immediately, her mouth watered. 

Asra laughed before dropping it back into the bag. “Baker was practically giving them away. Doesn’t want to work into the afternoon if it’s going to be as hot as he thinks it’ll be.”

“Bless his soul.” She hauled herself back onto the counter and spun to face him. From on top of the counter, she was just slightly taller than him. She moved to reach onto the bag and he easily maneuvered it away from her.

“C’mon,” she whined. “It’s early and the only thing I’ve had is a mouthful of wine.” 

His expression became wholly unamused. 

“Hey, I had to feed the liquid silver, cut me a break.” She said defensively. She swung her feet back and forth against the counter. 

“Sure.” He hummed, before doing a double take of the counter. He passed her the bag of bread which she gleefully began tearing in to. She was pleasantly surprised to find Faust at the bottom of the bag underneath a layer of cloth absorbing the breads warmth. 

The snake popped her head out of the top once Kalida removed the bread. _“Friend!”_

Kalida’s gaze softened as it settled upon the little purple snake. She scratched her affectionately underneath the chin. 

“Yxa’s mad at me,” Kalida told her, “But I’ll coax her out from under the bed to keep you company later.” 

“Lida, what’s this?” She looked over to find Asra reading the parchment. 

“Ah.” She tore off a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth. “That?” 

She chewed a moment before swallowing. 

“How do you feel about going out tonight?”

The Rowdy Raven was dimly lit, and while Kalida had never been below the deck of a ship (nor had she ever been on a ship), she assumed the tavern looked like how she imagined the crew’s quarters would be. The tables were worn and covered with scratches and welts, candles dripped wax onto the tables, casting an eerie glow upon all the patrons. The tavern wasn’t too busy, and aside from a table of pirates merrily singing sea shanties, most patrons looked like they preferred to keep to themselves. 

Which, in Kalida’s opinion, was the preferred situation – it would be harder to locate Lucy Olsen if they were constantly having to maneuver around drunkards the whole time. Nonetheless, the pair of magicians still stood out spectacularly – Asra’s white hair practically glowed amongst the gloom of the place, and despite Kalida’s plain, loose-fitting cream-colored dress, she was still drawing a bit of attention as well. That couldn’t really be helped, she had a charm for drawing people’s eyes to her, and it had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the sway of her hips and the brightness of her smile. 

She situated herself onto the nearest stool, patting the surface of the one next to her with enthusiasm. Asra warily took a seat next to her; his body was wrought with tension and his eyes darted around every few minutes. She propped up her head on her chin and watched him in amusement. 

“This really isn’t your kind of place, huh?” She watched as he made himself comfortable. Well, she watched as he made himself as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances. 

“Is it that obvious?” He wry smile. 

“Not at all,” she said. “You look completely at ease. Totally comfortable. Actually, I almost mistook you for a regular when we first walked in.” 

He snorted, but she watched as his shoulders lost a bit of their previous tension. 

“What about you? Is this your kind of place?” He asked. 

She bit her lip and looked around, gaze lingering on the group of pirates in the corner who appeared to be having a drinking contest in the corner. 

“It could be,” she admitted after a moment. “I’ve been to my share of taverns. None of them compare to the dens of vice in Marodria, though.” 

“Dens of vice?” 

She grinned at him. “Marodria is known for three things: Magic, the solstice festival, and brothels. Of course, they’re not only brothels, but bars and dance halls, amongst other things. The architecture’s quite stunning – most were built in former temples. Some are actually historical landmarks.”

“Ironic.” He rolled his eyes, but his tone had turned playful. “Of course you’d pay attention to the architecture of all things.”

Her smile turned mischievous. “I pay attention to other things too. This one time, I walked into the Golden Pearl – that’s the brothel my friend Lin owns – with a jug of Prakran wine, three hand woven baskets, and three ceramic tree statues from Nopal and –”

She broke off as his gaze honed in on something behind her. His eyes hardened, and she watched as his jaw tensed and his teeth gritted together. She followed his gaze and spotted a woman at the end of the bar merrily filling up a battered metal stein. 

She had shoulder-length blonde curls, green eyes, and a generous bosom held up by a tight brown corset over a white linen dress. She hummed as she worked, placing the stein onto the counter and sliding it towards the patron in front of her with a broad smile. She looked perfectly normal, happy, even, had it not been for the hazy pink cloud that encircled her head. The haze blurred her somewhat, made it harder to make out the distinct features of her face, and with each breath she took she inhaled some of the cloud. 

“Is she…?”

“Yes.” Asra’s voice was colder than she’d ever heard it. 

_I’ll be damned_ , she thought, _Aster was right_. 

Love spells were dangerous things, enormously hard to cast and only done well if the caster was willing to delve into the unsavory side of magic. A spell that stripped away someone’s free will, stripped away their consent was indeed a foul, disgusting thing that only those who devoted themselves to the darker aspects of the occult  
would be willing to do to another person. 

If cast well, the spell would be virtually undetectable, even to seasoned magicians. If cast poorly – and often they were cast poorly due to the difficulty of the task – then whoever the spell had been cast on would look largely like Lucy did. The spells trace would be visible to anyone with a good grasp of magic. 

Almost immediately Kalida’s hand shot up into the air to wave the younger woman down. She pasted a large, slightly lecherous grin onto her face and did her best to ignore the incredulous look Asra shot her. Lucy immediately bustled towards her – her smile was much more subdued, if not slightly weary. 

“Hello, dear.” Kalida leaned forward and propped her head up onto her hand. 

“What can I get you both?” Lucy asked, gaze flickering between the pair. 

“Whatever they’re having.” She motioned vaguely backwards, towards the raucous group of pirates. 

Lucy raised a thin brow at her. “I think you’ll regret that.” Nevertheless, her hands went to work pouring up a wholly unappetizing concoction – Kalida spotted her putting what appeared to be a table spoon of course salt at the bottom of the stein. 

“From around here?” Kalida asked, trying to keep her voice casual. 

“From Vesuvia, yeah. Just moved to this part of the city.” Lucy slid the frothy stein over the counter towards her. 

“Ah, that explains it.” Kalida demurred. 

“Explains what?”

“Why I haven’t seen your beautiful face before.” Kalida smiled broadly at her, finger circling the rim of her cup. “I live near the other side of the city. Dull. Complete lack of beautiful people.”

Lucy’s face suddenly turned wholly dispassionate, eyes glazing over just the slightest bit. “I moved here with my fiancé.” 

Kalida’s façade slipped; her finger halted its trip around the rim of her stein and her lips twitched downward. 

“Fiancé, hm? Who’s the lucky person?” 

“That would be me.” 

Kalida stiffened as she felt the presence of another person behind her, crowding her against the bar. She felt their breath at her neck; they’d brushed her hair off her shoulder to better whisper in her ear. Her skin crawled from the proximity, and she suppressed the urge cringe away from the person behind her.

She was vaguely aware of the way Asra’s stool scraped against the ground as he stood. She forced her breathing to remain even, and reached out to place a hand onto Asra’s arm. She squeezed his forearm in a way she hoped was reassuring, flashing him a look that said _“I’m okay, cool it.”_

Lucy’s face lit up, once again becoming animated and full of life. If possible, the haze around her head seemed to thicken even more. 

“Hello, Myron, my love!” She exclaimed. Kalida could see her wide smile through the cloud.

The body behind her moved away, and she let out a breath she hadn’t quite realized she was holding in. The man – average height, bright pink hair with a roguish smile – walked behind the bar and pulled Lucy in for a hug. He was handsome, she would give him that, but as his eyes flickered towards her, she noticed how the hostility rolled off of his body in waves. This man – Myron – was wholly displeased by their presence. She didn’t need her aura orb to tell her that. 

His eyes, when they finally settled upon her face, were full of malice. His gaze slowly surveyed her, trailing up and down her body in a way that made her stomach roll in thinly veiled disgust. 

“You two must be new around these parts,” he drawled. “Magicians, right?” 

With a jerk of his head, he dismissed Lucy who went and busied herself serving a few newcomers at the opposite end of the bar. Kalida tried not to watch her go; her mind was racing, lists of ingredients and various magical words soaring through her head as she stared at the man in front of her in what she hoped was cool indifference. 

_How did one make an anti-love spell potion again? Wasn’t there a spell that you needed to cast on a sacred blade? Did she need a sacred blade? How did one go about making a blade sacred?_  
“We are,” she heard Asra bite out. She willed him to be less hostile, even going so far as trying to project her own aura onto him. Judging by his clenched fist and flushed face it didn’t seem to be working. 

“And I’ve just decided that _these parts_ are terrible. Pleasure meeting you.”

Kalida stood suddenly; she reached into the pocket of her dress and slapped a few coins onto the counter. She grabbed Asra’s hand as she turned on her heel, tugging him behind her as she made to stomp out. 

“You didn’t finish your drink,” the man called out to her. “That’s considered rude in _these parts_.’” 

She took a deep breath and turned her head to look over his shoulder. He was holding the stein over the bar and towards her, froth spilling out and dripping down the sides of the cup. 

Suddenly, the liquid in the cup swirled up and out of it, floating in a stream in the air. She turned to Asra in surprise. 

“She’ll take it to go.” 

As they swept outside of the tavern, the stream of liquid followed not far behind. Almost as soon as they were outside and safely away from the door, Kalida rounded on Asra. He flicked his wrist and the floating liquid splashed to the ground and onto a clump of weeds poking out of the broken stone path. Almost immediately upon touching the weeds, the greenery started to melt and sizzle, a plume of smoke rising from the spot where the drink had touched. 

Asra and Kalida shared a look of incredulity. 

“Did he…?” 

“Yes.” Asra had grabbed her arm and pulled her along down the street, glancing behind them every few minutes. 

“What a psycho,” she muttered under her breath. Still, she couldn’t deny the way her hands trembled and the way her heart raced – Asra’s tense body language didn’t help her mounting panic. 

She pulled her arm gently out of his grip and instead replaced it with her hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing as they walked through the streets. She caught him watching her, but he said nothing and instead squeezed her hand back. 

“I don’t want you to panic,” he said quietly. 

“What? Why?” She whispered furiously, panic already creeping into her voice. If possible, her heart beat harder. She felt as though it were going to burst from her chest. 

“Someone is following us – No, don’t look behind us.” He caught her chin just as she was about to turn do exactly as he had warned not to do.

“How do you know?” She forced herself to stare straight ahead. 

“Because there’s been a man trailing us since we left the bar.” 

“What the fuck.” She hissed. “We didn’t even do anything. What. The. Fuck.” 

“My thoughts exactly.” 

“What do we do?” She’d been in the city – what, five months? Certainly, that wasn’t long enough for somebody to suddenly want to kill her. Nobody had ever wanted to actually kill her before – why would they? If Kalida was anything, she was a people person, and people like her weren’t almost poisoned in a shady tavern, they were bought poison-free drinks in shady taverns.

“Turn. Quickly.” Abruptly, Asra pulled her after him down a shallow alley. 

The alleyway sat snugly between two buildings – one of which appeared to be a smoking lounge and the other a fisherman net shop. Less of an alley, and more of an architectural blunder – perhaps the builders ran out of brick to fill the small gap in the wall? It was only about three paces long and three feet wide, just big enough for the pair of them to squeeze in with their backs against the wall and their chests pressed together. They were so close that Kalida could feel Asra’s chest rise against her own with every shallow breath he took. 

It was also inexplicably warm, and almost immediately the air between them felt suffocating and humid. Kalida felt her loose dress stick to her damp skin, and she knew her face must be flushed. Although, she wasn’t sure if that was due to the heat or her proximity to the person in front of her. 

Asra leaned forward, and her breath stuttered as he pushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. His lips brushed the shell of her ear; she had to physically restrain herself from turning her head just the slightest bit to connect their mouths. 

“Be quiet.” And with that, he raised his hand and a brick wall rose up at the end of the alleyway, effectively boxing them into the small space. 

She jumped, her head nearly bumping his chin as she stared at the wall in wonder. It was an illusion, of course, but she hadn’t thought Asra capable of such complex magic. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t a good magician – he had a familiar after all – but usually he resigned himself to listening to The Arcana. To see Asra actually use his magic, especially twice in one night, was a near anomaly. 

And then she heard it, the soft sound of soles against cobblestone. Whoever had been following them was light on their feet, but she could still hear the gentle sound of leather shoes against stone. The footsteps seemed to hesitate, and she pressed her forehead forward and against Asra’s chest and willed her breath to even out. 

And then the steps continued; Kalida only exhaled when she could no longer hear their soft tread. Regardless, Asra still kept the illusion of the wall up, and the pair of them stayed huddled together and silent for what must have been ten more minutes. 

Finally, she lifted her head to look at him. Her gray eyes immediately locked with his violet ones, and she absently realized that she could feel his heart racing almost in time with hers. Her face was mere inches away from his, the air between them seemed to be becoming increasingly warmer. It certainly didn’t help that her body ran naturally hotter than natural – it was a consequence of having such an affinity for fire magic. 

She turned her head to look at the wall.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” She whispered, still looking pointedly away from him. 

The tension between them seemed to break, and she felt rather than heard him sigh. 

“When you’re a child thief, tricks like this come in handy.” His voice was wary, as it always was when he discussed his childhood on the streets of Vesuvia. Although, it was something he rarely if ever discussed. 

“Well, I think that _trick_ just saved our asses.”  
A warm hand suddenly cupped the side of her face, gently guiding it to face forwards to look at him once more. There was concern in Asra’s eyes, concern in the way he bit his full bottom lip and concern in the way he tilted her face side-to-side as though he were checking her for injuries. 

She let out a shaky breath and focused her attention on his gold choker. 

“That was scary,” she admitted. “Nobodies ever tried to kill me before.”

“That’s mildly surprising.” 

She shot him an indignant look. “What do you mean?’ 

He raised his hands in mock surrender. It was hard to read his expression on the brightest if days, but in the darkness the only light illuminating them was the moon. If it wasn’t for their proximity, she doubted she’d be able to see him at all. 

“Just that you’re always getting into trouble, and you’ve had your share of adventures.” 

“That doesn’t mean that people have tried to poison me before.” Her eyes narrowed at him, but it was the way that her voice broke on the word poison that really surprised her. It was only when Asra’s thumb swiped underneath her eye did she realize she was crying. 

She almost reeled back and away from him – Gods, she hadn’t cried in nearly two years. All of a sudden, she was reduced to her teenage self, so full of uncertainty and hear. She thought she’d killed that girl long ago, but apparently insecurity was easy to resurrect. 

“I’m a good performer,” she whispered into the space between them. “I don’t fight – I only learned defensive and offensive spells to get my chain. 

“And you did.”

“And I did.” She echoed hollowly. “But I’m still not very confrontational.”

Most of the arguments and disagreements she’d had were with family, and, in the end, they always smoothed themselves over eventually. The few verbal altercations she’d had were easily mended over a pint and a good story. Fighting off giant cockroaches was one thing, fighting off people… that was another story.  
She let her head fall back against the brick of the wall and watched the starry sky above her. “Stars, I hate feeling sorry for myself.” 

“I don’t expect you to be a fighter Kalida – you know I’m not.” Asra shifted against her so that he was bracing himself against the wall, a hand on each side of her head as he leaned forward. “People leave the shop happier than when they came in, and it’s because you’re exceptionally kind. How many others would devote their time to helping a random boy save his fiancée from a love spell free of charge? The people in this city love you; sometimes there are just bad people who want to snuff out bright lights.” 

The smile she shot him was wry. “I’m a bright light, then?” 

“The brightest,” Asra said, and she saw no hint of humor upon his face. 

Almost without meaning to, her hands were on his sides, trailing up past the warm skin of his chest to rest on his shoulders. 

“Strange that you seem to always know what to say.” 

He blushed fiercely and opened his mouth to respond before suddenly gasping and slumping forward, the weight of his entire body pressing her into the wall. She caught him, arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. His face was buried into the crook of her neck, and his arms scrambled to wrap around her waist loosely in what seemed to be an attempt to keep himself from keeling over completely. 

The illusion wall fell suddenly, and Kalida saw that they were exposed to the street once more. 

“’M sorry.” She felt the warmth of his breath as he spoke against her skin. “Used up too much energy. Magical stamina isn’t great.” 

She laughed breathily, shifting to better take his weight. “That’s certainly something we have to work on. Can you walk?” 

He nodded against her, but as he went to step back, his knees gave out. 

“Okay.” She steadied him. “It’s okay.” 

She maneuvered one of her arms free, and with her hand reached down to tug up the skirt of her dress. That seemed to shock him into alertness – his head shot up, and his eyebrows were nearly in his hairline as he stared at her. 

“Don’t give me that look.” She rolled her eyes. She pulled up her skirt until the entirety of her leg was showing, the silver chain draped against her tanned skin shone bright in the moonlight. She rested her foot on the wall opposite of her for better balance.

Asra pulled away from her, placing his hands on the wall to brace himself and push away from her. As he attempted a step, he nearly fell again. She pulled him towards her before smashed into the ground and drew more attention to them then necessary. The street was empty, but she didn’t put it past their stalker to loop back around. 

“Listen, dear, I’m not going to carry you home. Let me give you some of my energy so that you at least can rally enough strength to walk.”  
He fidgeted against her, cursing his useless legs and low stamina under his breath. 

“That didn’t go so well last time.” 

She snorted. “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you actually come this time.” 

The look he shot her was positively dripping with venom. “I thought we weren’t talking about that. And I didn’t –”

“You brought it up. I swear, it’s like you’re begging for me to tease you sometimes.” 

He groaned, legs wobbling. His hand fell to her thigh, just next to the length of the chain, and his face fell back into the crook of her neck. The contact immediately re-ignited whatever tension had thickened the air before. She was acutely aware of his fingers as they squeezed the flesh of her thigh, thumb brushing the skin next to her chain. His breath was hot against her neck, lips pressed against the damp skin there. 

She felt him sigh – it was what she assumed to be defeat – before his thumb slid just slightly over and rested lightly upon the metal. 

The reaction was instantaneous. 

Asra pressed against her, gasping just as he had the last time. His entire hand had wrapped around her chain and tugged hard enough for the metal to bite into her skin. She shifted her leg to wrap around his waist to better accommodate him, inadvertently pressing her hips into his. She let out a gasp of her own when she felt his teeth bite at the juncture of her neck and shoulder and her hands rose of their own accord to tangle in his hair. 

And it was then that she felt it: his magic merging with her own, bleeding into her very self with such vivid intensity that it was all she could do not to cry out from the sheer beauty of it. Purple embers littered the edge of her vision and began to spark turquoise. Power filled her, so utterly overwhelming that she felt like every inch of her was vibrating. With one hand still tangled in his hair, her other hand scrambled for purchase on the wall pressed to her back. 

Her breath left her in a series of harsh pants as her head fell back, hitting the wall with a harsh thud that she barely registered. Every where they touched burned from the contact, her skin seemed to thrum and she was acutely aware of the blood that flowed through her veins. Her magic was reaching to his, beckoning it and drawing it to the surface like lava erupting from a volcano. She hissed when she felt his free hand touch her other leg. He hooked his hand under her leg and she willingly jumped to wrap both her legs snugly around his waist. 

They were so close, chests pressed together, and skin connected so that she could feel the way he trembled against her, could feel the way that his lips mouthed at the skin of her neck, muffling his groans. His hands squeezed the heated skin of her thighs like they were his lifelines, nails digging into the flesh and leaving crescent shaped marks. 

When he let go of the chain, he did so suddenly, and without any warning she crashed back down to reality. Her eyes snapped open and her chest heaved as she sucked in the night’s humid air. Her skin was damp, so much so that her dress was sticking to her in a way that must’ve been wholly unattractive. Asra looked worse for wear, when he finally lifted his head from the crook of her neck his face was slick with sweat and flushed. A few curls stuck to the skin of his forehead and his eyes were heavy-lidded and slightly glazed as he stared up at her. 

He was still holding her – her legs were still wrapped firmly around his waist and his hands still gripped her thighs. She soothed a hand through his hair, brushing the curls that hung in front of his eyes, watching as his eyes fluttered shut under her administrations. Her other arm wrapped around his shoulders to draw him close. He laid his head against her chest, and she continued to stroke his hair while their breath evened, and their heads cleared. 

Far too quickly the moment was over, Asra was pulling back from her and gently lowering her to the ground. She stood on wobbly legs, adjusting her dress so that the straps were back on her shoulders and so that the fabric wasn’t lewdly clinging to her skin.

“Can you walk?” She asked softly. Her voice was throaty, a little too husky.

He nodded, seemingly looking anywhere but at her. His face and ears were tinged red in a way that was wholly charming, and if the situation were different, Kalida would’ve been delighted. But his body language was stiff and distant, and his eyes were averting her at every cost. As they walked out of the alley (as casually as they could after what had just happened.) 

“Kalida.” He spoke so quietly she almost didn’t hear him. “Don’t… Tell anyone about this, ok? I… in fact, maybe we shouldn’t talk about this at all.” 

She stared at his profile, at the way the moonlight glinted off the white of his eyelashes. He was ethereal, like a figure from The Arcana had come to life. And just like his tarot deck, understanding him continued to elude her. His face had become stony and closed off, and she head a dreadful feeling that whatever wall she’d been chipping away at these last few months had doubled in size. 

She wondered if he was embarrassed – whether by his reaction to her magic, or by whatever had just transpired between the pair of them she didn’t know. It didn’t seem like they’d be talking about either any time soon. 

She picked up her pace so that she was a few steps ahead of him. She turned her head to look at him from over her shoulder, pasting a smile onto her face that didn’t quite meet her eyes. 

“No promises.” She teased.

Her smile faded when she faced forward. For the rest of the walk back to the shop, she let herself pretend that nothing had changed since that morning. She knew that by dawn the following day, something would be different between them, and she wasn’t sure if the prospect thrilled or petrified her.


	5. The Heatwave Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She talked, muttered words and imprinted them into his mind and body. 
> 
> He listened because there was nothing else to do, and nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// 
> 
> Trauma

Their relationship was different – Asra felt the change when he opened his eyes blearily the following morning. He realized it as soon as he felt the soft linen sheets against his warm skin, as soon as he inhaled the smell of citrus and chamomile.

He’d never slept over before, had never let himself even consider it despite how late he often stayed at the shop, and despite the fact that Kalida always, always offered. 

“I usually fall asleep at the table anyway,” she’d say.

“I don’t want to encourage bad habits,” he’d respond. 

She rolled her eyes. “Too late. It’s already a bad habit.”

But he hadn’t been referring to her habit of falling asleep sitting up. 

And yet, despite his reluctance to indulge, he seemed to melt into the comfort of being in her bed. He rolled onto his back, hand tentatively sliding over the sheets to feel the space beside him. His head lolled over when he encountered empty sheets and, sure enough, Kalida was nowhere to be found. It was the realization of her absence and the sudden disappointment that broke him abruptly out of his post-sleep daze. 

Asra sat up immediately, sheets pooling around his waist as he did. The thick comforter was strewn across the floor, and for good reason. The sunlight was bright, and the air was humid and heavy. Already his shirt – thank stars he was wearing one – was sticking to his skin and his brow beaded with sweat. 

He pushed his hair off of his forehead and rubbed face. Memories of the night before invaded his mind; he hadn’t been drinking, but his head was foggy as it tended to be after he got a solid night of sleep. He remembered accompanying Kalida to the bar, the love spell, smoke rising from the ground when he dropped the drink meant for Kalida, hiding in the alley and then – _no._

His hands dropped from to his lap and he stared at the wall across from the bed in horror. He remembered overusing his magic, touching the chain wrapped loosely around Kalida’s thigh, and then the way he had surged against her, pressing her body against the wall, her thighs wrapping around his waist and – d-did he _bite_ her? He had the distinct memory of his teeth sinking into the softness of her neck and then of his tongue laving over the skin. 

He felt the color drain from his face as he flung his body back onto the mattress face first. He groaned into the pillow which, to his dismay, smelt even more strongly of her. He couldn’t escape them, the memories of the night before, not when he was awake and in her bed and surrounded by her. Almost unwillingly he felt the touch of her hands as they stroked through his hair and he remembered her gasp when his teeth sunk into the juncture of her neck. 

He remembered asking her not to ever discuss whatever had happened in the alley between them. 

He cursed himself, soft and mumbled by the pillow pressed up against his face. 

He’d felt everything; he sank into every inch of her being, had felt every sliver of her magic as it raced to meet his own. And he had opened himself to her inadvertently, and his magic – as though it had been waiting for that precise moment – raced eagerly to meet hers. The wall that he had been building carefully around himself crumbled for an instant, and that instant was enough for him to ruin everything. 

And he had ruined everything, hadn’t he? If not by groping her in the alley, then by how he acted afterwards. 

“Don’t tell anybody,” he had said. As though it erased the fact that their bodies were pressed so close minutes before that he could feel the rapid rise of her chest as it fell in time with his own. As though they could go on and ignore whatever had happened between them.

As though he could ignore just how much he wanted her. 

For someone as enigmatic as himself, he held on too tight. He became too attached, too quickly and kept his distance far regardless. It was especially easy to do with someone like Kalida because for all her boisterousness and jokes, she’d respect his vagueness and never pry too much. She respected his boundaries, even if she herself did not understand them.

But she would leave eventually. He knew it – he could tell by her restlessness and by her wistful sighs when she described a sandy alcove in Marodria or the golden sea just north of Tzapor that she longed to branch out and give in to the urge to abandon her responsibilities no matter how hard she had tried to cultivate them. And Asra would never fault her for it – it was who she was, and he had hardly expected her to stay for as long as she had. Often times, he’d open the shop door and expect her to be gone, leaving behind a note in her place that deemed him the owner of the place. 

And so, he kept his distance. 

He didn’t tell her that most nights he set up his tent outside of Muriel’s (sometimes he snuck into Muriel’s bed if he was feeling particularly lonely), he didn’t tell her much about his childhood begging for scraps, and he didn’t tell her that she was the most wonderful person he’d ever met and that he would gladly worship at her alter if he wasn’t so foolish and fearful that she would eventually leave him. 

But whatever distance he’d been cultivating had been shattered, ruined in that alleyway all because they couldn’t mind their own business and he needed better magical stamina. 

He pried himself away from the pillow, half because he was certain that his face wasn’t as flushed with embarrassment any more and half because the air had become so stifling that he might’ve suffocated had he maintained his position a minute longer. His muscles ached as he untangled the sheets and stood up, joints popping in protest as he stretched. He vaguely registered the sound of movement in the kitchen and knew that Kalida was probably already hard at work. He had to commend her on the effort she put into keeping the shop in top shape – she truly was trying to re-build the tarnished reputation her aunt had left. 

Regardless, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t momentarily consider a hasty escape out the window. 

He sighed and steadied himself, staring at the doorway that led into the kitchen as though another giant insect was about to leap out and attack him. He was apprehensive, but most of all, he was embarrassed. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was more embarrassed by his hasty dismissal and words than he was about whatever had actually taken place in the alley. He wasn’t sure what was worse. 

He swiped at his sweaty brow before untying a strip of red cloth he had wrapped around his wrist the day before. He used the mirror on the wall to watch as he carefully pushed his curly hair from his forehead and wrapped the cloth around it as a makeshift headband. He studied his reflection in the mirror and managed a small smile. He would’ve fit right in with the pirated at the tavern the night before. 

He was tempted to remove his shirt – it had become dirty from being pressed up against the brick wall the night before, and it was too hot and humid to comfortably wear any clothing at all. But heat be damned, it was probably best to wear as much as possible when facing Kalida again. He had half the mind to try and conjure up a thick winter coat just to put more layers between them and smother whatever spark had been lit the night before.

He steeled himself before entering the kitchen, thoughts of jumping out the window or trying his hand at portaling still lingering in the back of his mind. It was with a straight back and a deep breath that he steadied himself and exited the bedroom. 

Immediately he realized that Kalida – who was wearing a long orange skirt with a slit to her hip and a top that looked like nothing more than a silk forest green scarf she had wrapped around her chest – had not shared his same stance on more layers being better. He was happy that she was facing away from him – given what happened last night, it was probably best she didn’t catch his mouth dropping open as he brazenly admired the elegant curve of her neck and the shape of her hips. 

She was hunched over a pot on the stove; her hair was frizzing from the humidity and her skin glistened from both the extreme heat and the copious amounts of steam emitting from the pot she was peering into. In one hand she held a book open, but she didn’t appear to be reading it. Rather, her attention was focused on pouring what appeared to be grain into whatever she was brewing. 

Faust was perched on the table top, slithering past various poultices and jars full of ingredients. Yxa, the albino ferret, followed wearily behind. The rodent walked carefully, eyes constantly darting around as though a jar would grab at her. Familiars were often strange compliments to their masters – Faust was far more friendly than Asra, and Yxa far more cautious than Kalida. 

Kalida’s skirt twirled as she spun on her foot – her dress rose, exposing the smooth tanned expanse of her thigh. His fingers twitched – hadn’t he squeezed her there last night? Pulled her leg up to wrap around him completely and – 

“Asra!” His eyes darted to her face. “Finally, you’re awake. Impeccable timing as always, dear.”

She was smiling, but he could see the weariness on her face and in her body language. She didn’t move forward to greet him or pull him over to sit in a chair. Instead, she hunched over even further over the steaming pot. 

“How long was I asleep for?” He blinked against the harsh light of the sun that illuminated the main room. 

“About eleven hours.”

_“What?”_

Kalida shrugged. 

“You were pretty out of it last night – didn’t seem fair to wake you.” Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I – ah – I slept at the table.” 

“Oh.” He tried to ignore the bitter disappointment that bloomed in his chest like a weed. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Careful distance. 

“You wanted to walk home, but given that I don’t know where your home actually is, I know if you’d make it there, especially at night.” She brushed a hair out of her face. “So, I kind of forced you to sleep here. Well, not _forced_ – you actually seemed to kind of like the idea. I mean, you probably didn’t want to walk home either given the state you were in and –”

“Lida.” He addressed her as gently as possible. She was rambling, her face turning redder by the second. “It’s ok.” 

She nodded stiffly. He felt guilt gnaw at him – he didn’t mean to make her feel self-conscious around him. He wasn’t really sure what he meant – he craved her closeness and her companionship, but he pushed her away at every chance. Sure, most times his reasoning made perfect sense in his head, but once put into practice… 

He took the initiative and approached her. He reached around her – careful to not brush her as he did – and snagged the book she had been holding off the counter. The page she had last had it opened to contained a long list of ingredients that would probably fill the length of his forearm. Next to the list was an illustration of a kindly air spirit plucking thorns out of a heart. 

He nearly dropped the book. “What are you making?” 

She shifted. “The love spell antidote. What else would I have been slaving over all night?” 

“You’re actually going to make this? After what happened yesterday?” He slammed the book shut a little too harshly, too far steeped in his own disbelief to really care.

She shooed him away from the counter and snatched the book away from him with a look that he could only describe as venomous. “Yes, I am actually going to make it because it’s the right thing to do –”

“You could’ve died,” he snapped. “He tried to kill you for just looking at Lucy, Kalida. What do you think he’s gonna do when you take away his prized possession?” 

“Possession?” She repeated in disbelief. 

He rubbed his forehead. “Lida –”

“Don’t ‘Lida’ me, Asra.” He could see the fire behind her slate gray eyes as she pointed furiously at him. “He’s a fucking psycho. You really think I’m gonna just leave her with him against her will? Are you insane?” 

“I’m not saying that – I – what I’m trying to say is that he obviously views her as a possession, right? He doesn’t see her as a person, only something to be claimed, and you’d be a fool to think that he won’t come after the person who takes her away from him. Look at the lengths he’s gone to just to get her.” 

“I can’t tell – are you encouraging me to help, or are you trying to discourage me?” She waved her hand and a shaker full of what appeared to be strong, crystallized frankincense flew into her hand. She shook it a bit too forcefully over the pot, cursing when she nearly poured the entire container in. 

“Someone should help.” He acquiesced. “But I’m just saying maybe it shouldn’t be you… I don’t want you to end up getting hurt because of this.”

She slammed the shaker onto the counter. “Fine. Please, take me to Vesuvia’s other exceptionally talented magicians.” 

He grit his teeth as she pretended to think thoughtfully. 

“Oh – wait! We are the only exceptionally talented magicians in Vesuvia.” She seemed to deflate, shoulders slumping as the anger began to leave her. Kalida was often passionate, but she never often stayed angry. It was one of the emotions that seemed to leave her just as quickly as it set upon her. 

“You don’t have to help, dear.” She sounded tired, and for the first time since he entered the kitchen, he noticed the dark circles that rimmed her under eyes. Despite what she had told him, he doubted she had slept at all the night before. Especially given the fact that the anti-love spell potion was a deep rose color, a hue that the potion only turned after being brewed continuously for nine hours. 

His hand itched to reach out and stroke the delicate skin beneath her eyes. He ached to draw her into his arms and apologize. He wasn’t exceptionally sorry about worrying for her safety, but he hadn’t been at all appreciative for her saving his ass and letting him stay over the night before. No, instead he called her a fool as soon as he woke up. 

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

She waited expectantly. 

“I’m _sorry_.” He repeated. “Last night you just seemed really shaken up, and I don’t want you to have to go through that again… I don’t want you to be scared for your life all the time.” 

“I was scared,” she absently stroked Yxa’s fur as the ferret trotted by. “But fear can’t stop me from doing the right thing, Asra. No one else can help that girl, and I’d rather die than leave her with that creep. I won’t leave her.”

He slowly rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt. “Then I won’t either.”

He knew her well enough to know that when she put her mind to something, there was nothing that he could say that would sway her from it. Her heart was too big to forget, and whether he assisted or not, he knew she would make the antidote and save Lucy. With or without him. 

She turned her head away from him, her curtain of hair falling and obscuring her face, but not before he saw the beginnings of a smile form on her full lips. 

“I’m not condoning you putting yourself in danger.” He added as an afterthought. “I just feel like this process will go smoother if I help out. And I don’t want her to be stuck with that creep either.” 

“You’re a good person, Asra.” She let go of the book haphazardly, but rather than falling it floated in mid-air and opened to the page with the potion ingredients. She took a few steps closer to him and tapped his chest right over his heart. “You have a good heart.” 

“Says you?” He held his breath – even the slightest touch was enough to send a shock of electricity down his spine. 

“Says a lot of people.” Just as quickly as she approached, she departed, redirecting her attention back towards the potion and giving him the chance to breathe. 

Something had changed once more between them; while the banter didn’t come as easy as it did just the morning before, they were able to work in companionable silence without any residual tension. It was easier that way, both practically and emotionally. Antidotes were heavily mind and body based, and they often fared better when the magician brewing it was calm. Luckily, the task at hand was enough to distract Asra from thinking of the what the consequences for nearly ravishing Kalida in an alley would be. 

There would be time for that later.

There were still moments when he stared, still seconds where he let his mind drift away to consider the what-ifs. When he gathered her thick curls and held them back so she could lean over the potion and whisper sweet-nothings to it he wondered: what if he pressed a kiss to where the bronzed skin of her neck met her shoulder? What if he forgot his fear and confessed to her right in the cramped space of her kitchen? What if she decided to stay in Vesuvia? What if she decided to stay with him? 

It was during one of these brief instances of pondering that were abruptly interrupted. He had been murmuring to the stove salamander encouragingly when he heard Kalida’s accomplished cry behind him. The salamander – which grew warmer from the praise – promptly shot him a look chastising him for getting distracted and turned its back to him to return to its place underneath the pot to sulk. Asra clicked his tongue in disapproval– all the animals at Kalida’s were so touchy. No wonder she was constantly talking to the salamander – it craved attention as much as she did. 

When he rose, he noticed that the potion had become as clear and reflective as glass; the surface of the liquid had smoothed over, so still that it appeared almost completely solid. His own reflection stared back at him in what he perceived as wide-eyed judgement. 

“Would you look at that.” Kalida’s face joined his in the mirror. 

Her reflection’s face was flushed, eyes darting around in what Asra assumed to be embarrassment. The real Kalida’s lip curled at the sight. 

“It’s a mirror then?” His reflection’s lip didn’t move when he spoke, rather it just maintained it’s judgmental stare. 

“In a way. It reflects your inner most feelings.”

They both straightened up immediately, reflections disappearing as they did so. 

Kalida grabbed a heavy iron ladle and carefully dipped it into the brew. The surface of the thick liquid broke, creeping into the ladles basin as though it had a mind of its. She gathered enough to fill a small crystal vile and poured it carefully into the container. As it filled the vile, it appeared to solidify once more. 

“Hey…” Kalida put the stopper in the opening. 

“Hey?” He echoed as he began to clean up the works pace. 

“I’m sorry about last night – I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m not good at the whole ‘not talking thing’.” 

“I hadn’t noticed.” He swallowed in an attempt to will away the dryness in his throat. 

“I’m just sorry. I shouldn’t have coerced you into touching the chain knowing that you didn’t have the best reaction last time… I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” 

“I…” 

She held up a hand. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I just needed to say something before the guilt ate me whole.” 

He was not worthy of her – that was what he realized in that moment. That Kalida, as stupidly brave and loud as she often was, would only be dragged down by him and his stupid fears and nonsense. She apologizing to him? The mere thought was absolutely ludicrous in itself. He willed himself to open his mouth, to say something and apologize for all the trouble he’d already caused her. 

He nodded. 

She seemed to perk up considerably, clapping her hands together. 

“Then let’s get this over with!”

She reached deep into the aether – her hand disappeared into thin air as she rooted around for the exact string to pull. 

“Gotcha.” She yanked something and the very thread of reality began to unravel before their very eyes. 

During their time together, he had asked her to teach him a lot. But he never asked her about how to create a portal – she performed the act with such professional ease that he knew he could never mimic. 

Through the swirling, skewed air where the thread of the aether had unraveled he saw into the Rowdy Raven. It looked the same as it had the night before, except there were less patrons and the sun illuminated the dust motes that swirled lazily in the air. Behind the bar stood Lucy polishing glasses, and behind her stood Myron. He watched her with the satisfied eyes of a tiger after slaughtering its prey.

“Hold onto me, yeah? I don’t want to go all the way through.” She uncorked the bottle with her teeth and spat the cork onto the floor. 

He hesitated only a second before positioning himself behind her and firmly grabbing her waist. She took a deep breath before dunking her whole torso into the portal. It was unnerving, holding onto her waist when the top half of her body shimmered in a completely different location. He had a vision of the portal abruptly closing and cutting her in two, and his grip on her hips tightened. 

Kalida hardly gave the pair time to react to her appearance. Without greeting she tossed the contents of the vial towards Lucy with a single flick of her wrist. The antidote solidified in mid-air for a second, and Asra watched as Lucy’s reflection screamed in despair. The fog around Lucy’s head cleared, and the glossy look in her eyes dissipated just as the antidote liquefied and doused her completely in silver. 

Kalida reached out and yanked Lucy over so that the woman stumbled forward and fell through the portal and into the kitchen. Myron seemed to recover from his shock, and his face morphed into one of pure fury. He moved to lunge forward, but Kalida was quicker. She flashed him a rude hand gesture and fell back out of the portal and into Asra’s arms. Just as Myron was about to cross over, Kalida yanked at another string in the aether and the portal closed. 

Kalida tilted her head back to look up at Asra, a lazy grin spread across her face. 

He couldn’t help it – he smiled back. He always did, the poor love-sick fool he was. 

“Smooth.” 

She reached up and patted him on the cheek. “Always.”

A gasp tore their attention away from each other and towards Lucy who sat trembling on the floor. Asra helped Kalida right herself and the pair rushed over. 

They both kneeled down next to her; Asra had snatched a towel off the table and moved to wipe off some of the potion that coated her face in a thick, shiny layer of goo. Lucy flinched away from him, scrambling into Kalida’s arms and effectively covering her in the mercury substance as well. 

Kalida hushed her softly; she took the towel from Asra and very slowly began to wipe the antidote away from Lucy’s eyes so that she’d at least be able to see. 

“There, there, my dear.” Her other hand soothed over her back. The antidote disappeared under her touch. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.” 

Asra could see her face more clearly now that Kalida had begun cleaning away the mess. Yes, the haze had dissipated and her eyes were no longer glazed with artificial longing, but her face did not show relief. 

She was terrified. 

Her body shook with the force of her sobs, so strong and forceful that her wheezes and gasps for air were nearly silent. She clung to Kalida desperately, clawing at her tanned flesh and leaving marks on the skin. Asra moved away slowly – he didn’t want to startle the woman, and he didn’t want to crowd into her space. 

Kalida rocked her for awhile after she had cleaned away the majority of the much. She allowed her to cry until the sun set and the crickets began their song. It was only after the torches lit of their own accord did Kalida try and coax Lucy into standing. In the light of the fire, Asra saw how blotchy the women’s face had turned. One of her eyes had a burst of red in the white – her crying has been so forceful that she’d burst a blood vessel. 

She allowed Kalida to walk her towards the bathroom, and that was the last he saw of them for another hour. He never strayed from his position on the floor – suddenly, his body was exhausted. His legs felt as though they’d collapse under any weight and his heart felt empty of anything.

How petty it had been, worrying earlier about his small problems and his unrequited love. 

When Kalida finally emerged, she was by herself. She walked with heavy steps before collapsing next to him on the floor. The circles under her eyes were darker than before, and her lids drooped. 

“She’s sleeping.” She whispered into the silent night. 

“That’s good.” He didn’t know what else to say. 

“I…” She drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face in the gap between her knees and chest. “Asra, I took away her memories.” 

_That_ snapped him out of the trance he'd fallen into. 

“What?”   
“She begged me to. She begged me to make her forget what happened when she was with him.” She looked up at him, and her cheeks shone with tears. “How could I tell her no? She’d be happier not knowing, she said. How could I tell her no?” 

He did not stop and think about his feelings, or the repercussions of his actions. He gathered her into his arms, and she melted against him. He could tell she’d been waiting for the moment when he brought down the wall he put up between them – she scrambled into his lap, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as she buried her face into his chest.

His hands rubbed circles into her back, and although she didn’t cry or sob or scream, he heard the whimpers as they left her lips and he felt the tremors as they raked through her body. 

She talked, muttered words and imprinted them into his mind and body. And he listened because there was nothing else to do, and nothing else in the world he’d rather being doing. 

“Chains are made for the individual – no two are alike. And interwoven between the stardust and the sand of the cliffs is a spell, a gift from the stars and the gods. A spell only the wearer will be able to master, one specific to them that can never exactly be taught to another.” 

She had stopped trembling, her body almost entirely limp against him. 

“I can restore people’s memories,” she murmured. “But then taking them away is just as easy. Like breathing.” 

“Why would you specifically need a spell like that?” 

For the first time in what seemed like hours she pushed herself up so that she could look up and into his eyes. 

“I don’t know.”

In her eyes he saw his own fears reflected back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a bit longer to put out! Sorry about that, folks. I've actually had the chapter written and ready to go for about two weeks, but I hadn't liked how it turned out. A lot of cutting things out and serious revision later and this is the result! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I'm really, really looking forward to the next couple of chapters. Breakthroughs will be reached, family reunions with commence, and Julian will, eventually, arrive.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! This series is mostly going to be a collection of stories taken from Kalida's life. Meaning that it may not always be chronological, but I'll do my best to keep you from being too confused, don't worry.


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